Twilight Tommy II: Black (Friday) Sabbat
by GitariArt
Summary: Twilight Tommy has barely started to adjust to life as a changeling and more importantly to what the people he lives with have become, when they all have to deal with the Salamander Court and the Child's Rite. This story is: based on CHangeling: the Lost, 15 chapters, contains SPOILERS to Great Fight (the 1st Twilight Tommy tale). Polite comments and inquiries are welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Warning: Due to my disability (see my profile), I have an exceptionally hard time proofreading. Therefore, incorrect words and wrong grammar may appear in this story. I have reached out to over a score of beta readers and only had a few replies. Of those replies, I have lost two betas, due to their real lives getting too busy. I do not want to delay posting my story any longer, while I seek another beta.

Authors Apology: I am sincerely sorry for any bad spelling or grammar that may remain within the following text. I honestly have done my best to correct my errors.

Author's Note: If you find spelling or grammatical errors in my story and would be kind enough to send me a polite PM, specifying what and where needs correcting, then I will fix the problem, as soon as I possibly am able.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characters, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual events, is coincidental. Inspiration was taken from World of Darkness's Changeling: the Lost RPG, however artistic license has been liberally applied to many key terms.

**Black (Friday) Sabbat**

Another Twilight Tommy Tale

Friday, November 25th, 2011 (Black Friday)

**I**

I woke up to a pounding on the front door. It was still dark out and it took a second to sort out why my bed was bouncy and the room felt oddly echoey and lifeless. The answers came to mind between thumps on the house's door. I was on my air mattress, not the comfy down bedding back at our oak, which meant I was in our rental house in Athens. We still had not spent the time or money to furnish the place yet, hence the echo. It seemed lifeless to me because our oak Hollow—to which I had become quickly accustomed—was in fact alive to the point of containing dryad. Plus, the only other member of my group in the rental ranch style with me right then was Rai—and that was assuming he had not left in the night.

I stumbled from my room and cracked open the door to one of the other two bedrooms, the one in which Raion-ju had been. The person at the front door knocked again. Rai was a big black man who was easily six foot six and built like a linebacker, he lay in his clothes, curled with his back in the far corner. The big guy wore jeans, a t-shirt, and socks, his steel toed boots were in easy reach—as far as I had seen, it was the only clothing he had purchased and that was at Wal-Mart weeks ago. Rai's True Far Keeper had transformed him into a spirit-touched with cat ears, eyes, whiskers, fangs, and claws, so it was not surprising that he looked more like a sleeping panther than a huddled man.

The constantly curios part of my mind mused on the words that I had so recently added to my regular vocabulary, True Fae, Keeper, spirit-touched. There were many more names that were synonymous for both the impossible glorious, infinitely terrible Bright One Masters, as well as several for their enslaved—once upon a time, mortal—changelings. The various titles rolled around the back of my head, free associating, although I was too groggy to make much of anything of the process. I almost found it hard to believe that I had once thought such things were make-believe.

Raion-ju did not wake up at my intrusion, although I believe his ears pivoted to point at me and his nostrils flared. I knew that if I wanted a brisk wake up jolt I could try entering to within arms reach, as Rai wore a light wintery chill at all times. I was smart enough not to risk waking a cat-man that size from within reach, so I closed the door.

At our ranch-style house's front door, I ran my perpetually tan hand through my light brown and blond streaked, mop of wavy hair, exposing the tips of my equally tan pointed ears. Then I opened the door, and found myself greeting two uniformed police officers. My first thought was relief; in my sleepy state I had just opened the door like Sean Tallwind and Lightning Russel both had on previous occasions and the redcaps had snatched them each time.

My allies… well, gang really, had killed seven 'caps on the past night and we had thought that the end of our problems with the blood-headed freaks. However, for all any of us really knew there could still be more redcaps in town. Plus, one of them had fled the carnage, so acting with others or alone, he might come after us again.

The icy pre-dawn late November air charged through the entrance. There was no screen door between me and the cops. Our breaths puffed out visibly, as if we were exceptionally good at pretending to smoke. The dark haired man stood full in our weak porch light, his light haired partner was back a bit but still well illuminated.

My second thought, as I blinked sleepily at the officers, was act dumb.

"Uh, hi, um, officers," I said slowly, I leaned forward a little using the open inner door to prop myself up and looked around the neighbor hood. I discarded the impulse to make a 'was I sleeping too fast' joke and went with, "can I help you officers?"

The closer officer, the one that had been pounding on the door, made introductions, "Good morning sir, I am Officer Green and this," he nodded his head to the other man, without taking his eyes off me, "is Officer Ericson."

Both men were white and around six one with pale eyes and clean shaven faces. Ericson's brush cut was blond and he stood with his hands on his hips. Green had black hair. Green was older by five or six years, maybe in his early thirties, he took out a notepad and pencil. Both men wore standard dark blue uniforms, including thickly insulated bomber jacket, guns holstered to their right hips, and the typical flat short brimmed hats that would conceal a bold spot, but left the rest of the head exposed.

Officer Green then asked if I was Fetch-Tom. In fact, he used my full True Name, the one my mother put on my birth certificate. True Names can be used against… well everyone, however spirit-touched are particularly susceptible. Thus, I am omitting my True Name here, I will use Fetch-Tom instead, as my doppelganger was still using my birth-name at that time.

"Huh?" I said, hoping my face did not betray the furious speed of my thoughts. "No, du… I mean, no sir. My name's Tom, but I'm Tom White."

Green and Ericson exchanged skeptical glances. Green looked back to me, "You are not Fetch-Tom?"

"Nope, sorry" I shook my head, still pretending to use the door for support. I widened my eyes a bit and asked in a conspiratorial tone, "What'd this other Tom guy do?"

Both men ignored my question. Green asked a new question, "Do you own a 2002 black Ford Festiva?"

I blinked, "No, sir, I don't own a car at all." I lied, knowing full well that my 2002 black Festiva was locked away in the garage. I also knew that the car was in my True Name. I only hoped that the cops had not been able to see clearly through the tiny windows high up the garage wall, because if I were them I would have checked that before banging on the front door.

"Where were you last night between ten p.m. and midnight?" Green's green eyes maintained a flatness that he must have practiced in a mirror.

"Uh," I tried to act like I was thinking about it, I exhaled long and slow, "That must have been after dinner, right? So, mostly just driving around."

"You just said you don't have a car." Green verbally jumped at my apparent slip and pointed a pencil at me. "Can we have a look in your garage?"

I wanted to stay away from that line of inquiry and decided that Green was too suspicious to leave this to my best mundane and unenhanced efforts. I tapped into my supply of wyrd to aid my persuasiveness and boosted that with a glamour of fortune to favor my efforts. "There's nothing in the garage and my roommate's got the key. Besides I didn't say I was the driver, me and Jessi and Gary where in Mark's car." I pulled names and faces from Fetch-Tom's list of FaceBook friends. "Mark's the dude that was driving; he's probably the guy you want to be talking to." I stopped myself from sarcastically adding "at ass-crack o'clock in the A of M."

"Hmm." Green jotted a note. "And while your friend Mark was driving you around, did you all stop by O'Malley's bar?"

I screwed up my face in fake thought, "uh, nope, not that I can recall. We mighta drove by at some point, but the name's not familiar, so I don't think I saw a sign for… uh, O'Malley's?"

Officer Green pursed his lips and made another note. Ericson was frowning slightly, but otherwise had not altered his stance. Green asked "And what are the last names of your friends from last night?" I told him the names as I remembered them from the computer I had looked at a few days ago. Then Green asked, "And why was your group driving around on Thanksgiving?"

I had been expecting that one, as I known a couple of fellow students at the university talking about the same situation, back when I was a normal lad attending to my higher education. I shrugged, "I don't know, nothing else to do really, I guess. I mean, it's like all our families are in other cities and the rest of our friends with their own families. And on the holiday most places were closed and stuff, so we were mostly just bored, ya know?"

"What sort of car did you say you were in?" Officer Green asked while making his most recent note.

"Uh," I rubbed my crystalline amber eye with the knuckles of my right hand, "I don't think I said. Uh, Mark's car is dark grey or black… it's old and kinda scratched up so the color's hard to tell… uh, it's his dad's old car… it's like, whadda-ya-call-it," I flapped my hand uncertainly, "a mid size car."

123

The perversely distractible part of my brain reflected on how I looked. In mirrors I saw a tan elf that should be modeling beachwear. Yet, I knew Officers Green and Erikson, saw the barely altered Masque of my former self—two inches taller at an even six foot, gangly/lanky frame, darker-brown unkempt hair, normal ears, brown eyes, and looking like I was in my late twenties instead of late teens. Only the preternatural tan of my choleric Grace seeped through to what mortals saw of me. If these officers did speak to Fetch-Tom, they would think we were twins, except for the pale skin and body art that my doppelganger had featured in his FaceBook pictures.

Masque, is another one of those new words I use a lot more often. Supposedly ancient mystical metaphoric pact between the Realm of Men and faery creatures (of which I, as a spirit-touch, had become one) hid the magic behind impenetrable illusions. Impenetrable to all of the mortal senses and mechanical devices, that is, as long as the changeling or whatever remained present. Once the fae was gone, then tracks and traces could be subject to other treatment, based on some grand and unknowable system governed by ubiquitous force of all magic known as the Gyr.

So, Gyr is yet another new vocabulary word. Personally I did not believe the force to be sentient, although I did often prey that It would be less fickle. For two examples, first is that if a spirit-touched has bird feet our hands of smooth-glass, then their respective foot and finger prints may not appear as human after they have left a location, or they might remain :normal", all depending on the Gyr's input or output or whatever. Or then there are reflective surfaces of all types, that play by special rules. Mirrors, and the like, showed me the me that other fae saw—behind my Masque as it were—while if I looked at another spirit-touched in the same reflection, then I would see their Masque and they mine. Yet, photographs of all kinds only ever show Masques. Also, as far as I had been able to discover, normal people still always saw the Masques, regardless of reflection or direct view. My point is that electromagnetism, gravity, and the like are much more realizable and make life much easier, if they are all that you believe govern your world.

I understood that I could choose to "drop" my Masque and show unchanged people the elfin me and I often found myself tempted to do so. However, that was like driving at eighty miles per hour down an expressway and feeling the urge to veer into the median. Dispelling the ancient Masque magic would cause some sort of hardship. I had not found a definitive explanation of the backlash, yet most relayed stories involved the Folk discovering the Masque dropping changeling's precise location. A few of the So called records made references to the mortals also caging and dissecting the fae that flaunted their secret selves—Area 51 had been mentioned more than once.

"Do you know the make or model?" Mr. Green's gruff monotone pulled my wandering thoughts back to my present.

"Uh, not really," I really lied now, "I never really got into cars… it had that, uh like pentagram hood thing." I held my hand up almost making an okay symbol. "so, that's a Chevy right?"

The semi-formal interrogation went around like that for fifteen minutes or so, lots of repetition trying to catch me out in a lie. Neither policeman showed any signs of sympathy as I started to shiver and then on the third or forth go around I started cupping my hands and blowing on them as well as shuffling my sock covered feet for warmth. I was no expert at deception, yet I felt in my bones that I had dealt with fae liars and interrogators and that these mortal officials presented no significant challenge. Especially as my frightful-beatific Keeper, Aeolian, had bent me to His will in such a way that I was forced to learn the secrets of Fairest Tongue glamour. Thus allowing me to tap into the ubiquitous mystical Gyr and reshape a enough of reality to influence others with my words. It also helped that I tended to be perceived as innocent, childlike, and gullible—at least on first impressions—Masque or not.

For mundane veracity I even let myself feel the almost wintery cold, rather than casting my Summer-s Embrace glamour of comfort. I believed that it was better for my act to use the environment as it was.

In the verbal round-a-bout, I also wound up having to tell the police that I worked at Elements, but I had called off last night to hang with my pals. I hoped that if Green and Erikson went and talked to my manager, Dave, that they would be as one sided with him as me. The story I had give Dave did not jibe well with me joy-riding with pals and I was still interested in hanging on to that job.

The cops, meanwhile, were not at all forthcoming with any details, even when I asked questions. Even so, both men seemed satisfied that they could not hold or arrest me, at that moment. So, Green thanked me for my cooperation, then he and his partner got into their squad car and drove off. Well they got in their vehicle, I did not linger in the doorway to watch them go.

By the time I had showered and dressed, my eyes had settled back to deep orange-gold from the agitated red they had been. Thanks to the Grace granted me by Summer-Fire, my otherwise clear as crystal irises (do to Aeolian's attentive-relentless scrubbing) appeared as pieces of amber and the color moves with my moods. On the one date that I had had time for since returning to the Mortal World and starting to reconstruct the semblance of a life, the delightful Pashmi had commented that my eyes were a sunny yellow, normally in the mirror I saw orangy-brown golds, and the more upset I am the redder my eyes became.

I packed up my things from the room where I slept, deflated my air mattress and worked it into its vinyl sleeve, folded my sheets, stuffed the bedding into a large trash bag, and packed my toiletries into my backpack. Then I collected the few remaining items of value from my Festiva, most also fit into my backpack. I was glad again for having an attached garage to our rental property so I could conduct my business without needing to open the car port—just in case the police were watching. I stowed the gear that I was not taking with me in the garage's rafters.

I left Raion-ju still sleeping on the floor in his room. I taped a note to the large panther-man's Suzuki, reminding him to make sure to lock the Festiva in the garage, if he left.

I left through the back door and hopped through several neighbor's yards, before stepping onto the sidewalk and strolling to the nearest bus stop. All with my pack on my back and a carrying a tied off trash bag full of evidence. I had to carry the evidence/trophies that I had collected from O'Malley's parking lot, even sawed-off, the blood spattered baseball bat had been too big to fit into my pack. When the bus came, I paid cash for the fare, then I rode it to as close to Ariadne's Sheave & Leaves as it would take me.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

The sun was barely up in the crisp grey sky, when I finally reached Sheaves & Leaves. The bus had let me off a half mile from the tea and book shop and I walked the distance in the thirty-something degree temperature. I still refrained from employing my Summer's Embrace to ward off the chill, since I had the appropriate outerwear. Plus, I was not confident the police were not tailing me and I continued to figure that reacting honestly to the weather would make me seem less suspicious. So, even though I was almost always pleased to enter the Victorian era converted home that served as changeling neutral ground and gathering place, I was even more pleased than usual for the store's warmth and comforts.

As I crossed the covered porch to reach the entrance, I consciously ignored the unnatural masses of spider webs over head. I knew from previous experience that the webbing clogged the entire covering overhead like an impenetrable drop ceiling. I had never seen movement within the silken mass, but it made me squeamish nonetheless.

I passed from the exterior smells of late autumn—dilute and distant wood smoke, faintly sweet rotting leaves, the hit of cold precipitation—into the mouth- watering bouquet of a bakery in full production. I could have curled up and gone back to sleep in the delicious yeasty, sugary aroma it was so wonderful. Once fully inside the shop, the warmth enveloped me and I sighed as I loosened my jacket and removed my hat.

"Hello, Philomena," I greeted the cute blond behind the antique reception/cashier desk. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

Philomena appeared to also get just arriving for the day, standing over her desk, chair not yet even pulled back. The clerk wore a smart tweed skirt suit and crisp blouse that I would expect a secretary in a '40's movie to wear and was placing a tea service for one and a plate of miniature muffins on the desk. It was probably the first time I had seen Philomena standing and she was taller than I had guessed, even subtracting a couple of inches for her heels, the thin woman was around 5'7".

"It wasth lovely," Philomena looked up and replied, smiling back at me, her large glasses half steamed over from her tea. "Thank you again for the treatsth."

"My pleasure, to be sure." I half bowed and moved further into the establishment.

I found Philomena's lisp adorably enticing. I always tried to have enough to say to her to get her to at least say something that had an ess sound or two. However, I worried the lady might find that sort attention rude, so I tried not to linger too long.

In general I found it difficult to tell when people would find my playful attention rude. Yet, I never seemed to have trouble pushing people's buttons when I intended... I felt like it should be equally as easy to push relaxation or happiness buttons as it was to anger them. At the very least I should be able to better predict when what I am about to say, or do, is likely to irritate—even if that is not my intention. I just was not sure how to go about training myself along those lined.

I ignored the public access new and used, mostly used, books section and passed through the tea room. All the eclectic wooden chairs were pushed neatly in to the dozen or so little wicker tables. The pastry display case was only half full and I heard the day chef, Rosa, back in the kitchen shuffling some pans.

Normally, I would wait patiently to greet the kindly lean chef and have my own tea and pastry. However, with my black plastic bag of contraband, I just kept moving to the far side of the dining area. Then I lifted the red velvet rope that guarded the entrance to the rare books collection and let myself in.

The enticing aromas faded quickly, to be replaced by the comforting smells and silence of thousands of old books. I enjoy books so much that the slightly musty, dusty atmosphere gave me a boost of energy, that I needed having not yet broken my evening's fast.

The rare books were kept in an extra dimensional space, the books fill shelves on every vertical surface and the rooms extend far beyond the parameters of the converted home I had originally entered. Ariadne's was also a spirit-touched Freehold and neutral territory that was located on the border of the Mortal World and the plane between worlds known variously as the Briar, Inbetween, Maze, and others. I had a theory that Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves was a massive haven, like the oak tree that my comrades and I shared, although had not yet uncovered any proof.

I made a relatively quick circuit of the sections and tucked away reading areas in which my allies had been spending most of their time, just in case any of those people were present. I had been pleased over the past couple of weeks to discover that the general layout of the rare books collection did not magically alter from visit to visit, it made finding books and people so much easier. I was not surprised when I did not discover any of my fellow gang members: we had all had a long and tiring night. I certainly would still be sleeping had Officers Green and Erikson not come calling. I wanted to envy Rai's oblivion to the outside world, yet I knew that had I not awoke, then the police would have most likely investigated the garage windows with greater effort and seen the get away vehicle, about which they had instead only asked. Two of three get away vehicles in fact, as the panther-dude's Suzuki and Freerunner's taxi must have been on whatever security footage or eyewitness reports that were available.

My little tour of the rare books had allowed me to calm down even further and think a little more clearly. Had the police been following me, they would certainly have picked me up as soon as they saw me carrying the suspicious trash bag. if the police came to get me in Sheave & Leaves, the fae ownership strictly forbids violence on the premises and only members are allowed in the rare books room. So, all I would have to do is not fight and run into the members only area. I assumed there were potent glamours in place to repel anyone that might try and chase me without paying their dues. Even then, if Johnny Law was able to pursue, all I needed to do was get to the Thorny Briar, dump my bag, and make a run for my haven. I really hoped that I would not have to give up the trophies though.

So, I returned to the tea room to indulge the siren smells of the fresh baked goods. I bought a nut and apricot muffin the size of a small cake and a chestnut tea from Rosa. I found the continuously active chef to be very pleasant, although her blue and white diamond-shaped face tattoos did make her Hispanic features seem like a slightly disjointed puzzle. I also wondered if the petite woman kept her glossy-black hair braided and under a classic mushroom-pleated toque to stay out of the way of her cooking, or if it was to better show off her two equally raven horns. I had only ever seen the lady in at her job and in chef's whites, though, so I might have been reading into her motivations.

I sat and enjoyed my breakfast. Most normal food had tasted vile since my return to the world; all the chemicals and additives are very noticeable after untold years of not tasting them. As I had come to understand it, most spirit-touched never reacquire the taste for the so-called mortal foods and thus far I was one of them. Generally, when I had to eat in the "Real" World, I had been trying to be a very selective diner. Even then most food had dulled and slightly plastic-y tastes. Meanwhile, Sheaves & Leaves catered to the desire for only fresh, unmodified, food. However, that also means a fair number of ingredients from the Briar, which can be risky if you do not know what you are doing. So far the staff members of Ariadne's had not displayed any reason to mistrust their culinary judgment.

I had only made it half way through my gargantu-muffin, when Gavin Granitbane exited the rare books "room" and approached me. Gavin was the next largest member of my survivors group, after Rai. Gavin had been a six foot two white guy in his early forties and an Athens firefighter with an enthusiastic body-building hobby. I suspected that the naturally gregarious man liked the attention he once garner from the annual fireman's calendar. Yet, that had been over seven mortal years ago and had become Mr. G's accordingly aged Masque. What I saw was a six foot four, rough edged and pebbly, red-orange hard-clay living sculpture that only gave an impression of what Gavin had once been. The earthen fellow had shackle wide bands of yellower-clay around his wrists and neck, short cropped sandy (as in sandstone) brown hair, and eyes that seemed to be made of blue marble set into white marble.

Like Rai, since me and my housemates had had gathered any money for clothes, I had only seen Gavin Granitbane in one outfit—classic red lumberjack flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, and brown leather hiking boots, with a dull grey down jacket if outside. Also like Rai and most of our companions, the brick-ish man relied on Wal-Mart for all his wardrobe needs. In fairness, Mr. G, Rai, and some of the others may have purchased more than one set of identical shirts and pants. Still, it was like living with a bunch of cartoon characters.

Even though I knew Mr. Granitbane was good natured and protective of the members of our troupe, having him loom over where I sat felt ominous. The feeling was certainly exacerbated from having to watch the big block of muscles kill at least two people… well ogres, with his bare, stony hands, less than twelve hours earlier. I fully believe that the redcaps would have killed us and that Gavin and my other allies were acting in self defense. However, no matter how monstrous the 'caps were, they also had been as much transformed humans as Gavin or myself, the copious amounts of blood was proof enough of that, for me.

I think the part that made the slaughter that I had witnessed (technically participated in, although I did not kill anyone) seem worse to me, was that none of my cohorts had appeared at all phased by what they had done. I could not tell if I had joined a group of psychopaths as bad as the redcaps, or if somehow the redcap threat had made murder inevitable. No matter what, Gavin's aplomb made me nervous in a way that it never had before.

At least the perpetual wood smoke smell that accompanied the towering man was not strong or acrid. Had Gavin's melancholic Autumnal Grace been as strong as my own choleric humor, then perhaps his odor would have been more overwhelming. Just as Rai's little phlegmatic Winter chill may have been more impressive had he been more committed to the alliance he had made with that Element-Season.

"Hey ya, Tommy," the rocky-man squeezed and rubbed my shoulder in a geologic grip of greeting. "I'm glad I found you here, I wasn't looking forward to a bus ride."

"'Mourning Gavin, what's up?" I rubbed some feeling back into my shoulder. The orange fellow was not always fully aware of his strength, which also exacerbated my unease.

"Tegan suggested I see if I could find you and the others, that aren't already here." Gavin eyed the remainder of my muffin-a-saurus with his blue marbles. "Her, Sean, 'Runner, and Wade are already in there." He jerked his square-ish head towards the velvet roped doorway.

I nodded, understanding that I must have just missed my colleagues earlier, and held my plate up to him. "You want the rest of this, while I finish my tea?"

The muscle man smiled and accepted the plate with thanks. He remained standing though. If it had been someone else I would have taking that as an indication urgency, Gavin though prefers to stand whenever possible, especially if there is a chance to strike a pose.

"What's the plan in the stacks?" I asked and drank some tea.

Gavin swallowed before answering. "Last ditch effort to find an alternative to the Childs Rite."

I nodded again and sipped more tea. My group very much disliked the local fae court's plans to sacrifice a mortal child in a ritual intended to protect the other mortal children from the Folk. Even though our collective were new to the changeling life and not affiliated with the Court of the Midwestern Territories, we had taken it on ourselves to sway their decision. Partially we believed that the more experienced spirit-touched were just too jaded and simply needed to be reminded of basic humanity. Also, the Child's Rite had been proposed by Red Rhea, a zealous visiting scholar, who did not seem capable of recognizing any possibility beyond what she had already decided.

I say "we", however in regards to the Child's Rite, it was really Tegan Bramblerose, Mr. Granitbane, and myself that expressed any real concern for the child in question's wellbeing. Iron Wade the Man of Steal and Sean Tallwind were generally contrarians by nature that happen to pick Red Rhea's cause to oppose, for the time being. Freerunner just sort of followed along with the majority of our cabal, I believe so that we would never exile him for not being useful. I could not say with any certainty that Raion-ju had paid any attention to these concerns as we debated them over the last two days.

Technically, we shared our haven and our rental property with two others, Dark Sol and Lightning Russel, yet they were so rarely around, I was not sure if they counted as part of our group any more. I definitely would not miss either of the two, if they chose to leave. Sol, like all darklings, was creepy and fixated on the morbid, plus she also seemed more than a little selfish. While smarmy and arrogant Rusty and I had an adversarial history that had started in our captivity.

I was not sure what my allies hoped to accomplish with more research. We had spent the better part of two days looking for an alternative, even going to a Duke in a different fae territory for a first hand account. The best our efforts had revealed was that the child used in the ritual may only need to be maimed and terrified, instead of murdered. We did also believe the child could be healed afterwards, at least. Thus, our research assuaged some of the horror that I perceived in the whole affair.

Even if more research did not turn up anything more useful, it was still a way to feel like I was doing something to help the unknown kid. So, I looked up to Gavin, "Well, I'm on board. Rai was at the rental house a couple of hours ago, but I would call and leave a message on his phone. Odds are he won't join the research either way, so you should save yourself a trip."

My looming companion nodded and grunted through his (my) muffin, indicating that I made a good point.

"I doubt Sol's worth even looking for. She hied off with Jack so fast last night, I was surprised she even bothered helping in the fight." I did not try to hide the bitterness in my voice, if Mr. G even noticed it, he would just ignore it in favor of imagining the best of all his chosen teammates, regardless of how not team-like any of us acted.

Gavin shrugged and bobbled his head noncommittally as he finished the breakfast treat. The civil-servant 'come bouncer did not agree with everything I said about Sol, yet probably would not waste time tracking her down.

Then I frowned and mentioned the last tenuous member of our group. "What about Russel? You didn't mention him a minute ago. I know Sean said that he bugged-out of 'Runner's cab last night?" Thinking about Light-nerf Pussel put a sour taste in my mouth, like bitter citrus. I had recently remembered that Russ (he always hated any abbreviation or modification of his chosen fae moniker) and I had been held in servitude by the same Bright One and that the Lighting-gail Rustle had specifically wronged me while there. I was still trying to decide just how physical I wanted to make my retribution.

"Sean said he saw Russel here last night." The fireman bodybuilder shrugged squarely again. "Then when the rest of us were ready to go to Amy's, Russel wasn't around. And he doesn't have a phone as far as any of us know… So, looks like I call Rai. And you're the only findable one."

I agreed, bussed my table, and waited while Gavin went outside for a cell signal and called Rai. As expected, the felinoid-fellow did not answer. Then Mr. Granitbane led me through the rare books to a decent sized room with a large, central table, at which our party had claimed a study space.

Tegan Bramblerose and Iron Wade the Man of Steal were sitting at the table and skimming through a few books that had already been selected.

Iron Wade was the third biggest guy in our collective, as tall as Gavin but probably fifty or seventy-five pounds lighter. Wade had been a thirty-something, white, fencing instructor and recent divorcée with dark brunette hair and blue eyes, he came back to the World looking close to sixty and a little taller than he left and with a hash-work of fine pale scars running up both arms—like long leather gloves. The man also looked heavily wind burned and tired all the time, although he retained his athletic fencer's build.

Seeing the scarred swordsman made me remember seeing him inveterate a couple of redcaps, hours earlier. To distract myself from such unpleasant imagery, I allowed my thoughts to wander to the continued sorry looking state of certain of my allies.

Like Gavin the fireman and Rai, an engineering grad, Wade had a perfectly viable skill set, yet all of them had settled for the first crappy under the counter paycheck that they had found—or had found for them. I had gotten Mr. Granitbane a his position at the nightclub, Elements and the leathery fencer had accepted work changing oil, part time, at a Jiffy Lube, then got Rai work doing the same. I continued to be surprised that none of the educated and trained men had wanted to use their faery glamours to secure better income. I was absolutely flabbergasted that the haggard swordsman would cut his own pay in half, to get work for someone who had effectively rebuilt a motorcycle from scraps in just a few days. I felt Rai had proven that he had skills enough to find his own job. Although, Iron Wade did mention occasionally using a glamour or two to supe-up muscle cars for customers on the side, so perhaps I was being overly critical.

At least, even with Iron Wade's disregard for money, he had apparently worked something out, as he was wearing a new shirt. It still looked like he was a proud Wal-Mart shopper, though. Wade's shirt was a grey, long sleeve pullover with a collar, he kept the sleeves down as far over his scars as possible. The tall fellow also wore jeans and boots that matched Gavin's.

I was happy to wrench my attention over to the lady in the room. Petite Tegan had been an attractive, mid-west girl-next-door, brunette, ROTC student, that eschewed make-up and always tried to appear more plain than her natural physique would readily allow. The still very athletic and flexible woman's True Fae Master had reshaped her by burying her alive, over and over again, until she transformed into a bloomwell. Thus, Tegan remained 5'3", yet she seemed almost ten years younger—like me, a late teen—her hair had become a luxurious wavy auburn, bright wide eyes with irises of emerald green—as crystalline as mine, with a springtime Grace added—a heart shaped face, alabaster skin, lightly freckled cheeks, and a figure that no clothes seemed to allow her to downplay.

Tegan also had been devoted to Wal-Mart, thus far, and stuck to a sort of uniform. At least the reluctant bombshell allowed for some diversity, as she was wearing her green and blue flannel shirt, buttoned to collar and cuff and tucked into her tight jeans as always. Her Steal toed hiking boots were laced tightly to mid, shapely calf. With a book in front of her Tegan invoked the spirit of the naughty repressed librarian.

Oh, and fair Miss B's small sanguine Grace also granted her perpetually perfect to the occasion hair and make-up, like she was constantly in a movie. For example as the would-be jock sat absentmindedly twirling her rich silky red-hair around one perfectly manicured finger, her bedroom eyelids seemed heavy under a light application of pale green mascara, and she sucked lightly on the right half of her lower rose petal colored cupie-doll lip.

If that was not unfair and distracting enough, as a bloomwell, Tegan gave off a cloud of magically hypnotic wildflower aroma. With a little time and effort, the lady could convince any unsuspecting person to do her bidding. Even suspecting individuals might not be able to resist.

I was, of course, attracted to Tegan, most everyone sort of had to be because of her faery pheromone fragrance. However, I had a few facts that helped me resist her charms. First, Tegan had modestly claimed to be a black belt of at least one martial art and she would definitively put down any untoward advances. The delicate looking woman's high-kicking prowess at the redcap rumble certainly supported her claim. Second, we had gone through the trauma of abduction and escape together very recently and I still felt more of a sibling attachment to all us that returned from that Kendal study… Alright, maybe not siblings, in Tegan's case, yet I generally tried to be chivalrous at the very least. Third, and probably most significant, I was the only other member of our group to have gone through the necessary captivity to have learned the Fairest Tongue glamour and I kind of felt like Miss Bramblerose stole some of my thunder.

I made my hellos and asked what our new research plan was. Iron Wade acknowledged my arrival, but kept reading. The emerald eyed beauty held her place in her book with a delicate and dangerous finger and looked up. "As I fell asleep last night, I thought we might try looking up other methods that can be used to repel the Folk, rather than just focusing on overcoming the Child's Rite."

"Sure," I nodded thoughtfully, "okay, I see how we might get a different set of information that way."

"Oh, good," Tegan grinned a devastating grin at my approval, I had proven myself the most adept at book and computer research. "Sean and 'Runner are making initial selections, I figure you should help them." She said to me, then looked at the red-orange slab of Gavin expectantly.

I said, "Sounds good." I left my pack, coat, and trash bag with them, while they sorted out the weightlifter's next job, and headed out into the nigh endless stacks of books.

Sean Tallwind, Freerunner, and I—as it turned out—all had some varying degrees of what amounted to occult or arcane understanding. Sean seemed to have collected his mystical knowledge from his time as a private detective, although, I was still skeptical about whether he was being honest about that profession. Also Mr. Tallwind's shadow-eater (Fetch-Milton) had become a cult leader, so there may have been something more to Sean's past. I knew "occult" stuff mostly from Lit, History, and Mythology classes that I had taken. It is surprising how close so many of the classic fairytales and legends were to the way spirit-touched, Bright Ones, and glamours actually functioned. I never could get 'Runner to say how he knew as much as he did about things of ritual and arcane, I suspected that he came by the lore in during his captivity rather than his earlier life as had Sean and myself. Not that I had been sure that I would have understood the cute mumbling-man anyway.

After each of the three of us pulled a half dozen or so books, scrolls, or folios, we would return to the table with the other trio. Then all six of us would spend time scanning the material for potentially useful information. As 'Runner, Sean, or I found a likely source passage, we stuck in a piece of scrap paper as a book mark with a penciled note for what to read for more closely. Once all the new material had been noted, 'Runner, Sean, and I went back to the stacks for more books and left Tegan, Gavin, and Wade to do a closer reading of the marked works.

Sean Tallwind and Iron Wade had suffered a similar enough captivity that they both came back as what I had seen referred to as gnarlings, in some of the rare books that I had perused for other information. Like ogres, darklings, and so on, gnarlings were a sort of generalization for spirit-touched, or other fae, of a certain outlook or attitude—In their case gruff, grumpy, precise, industrious, and usually preternaturally skilled at some specific task. The Folk were renowned for the relentless, brutal, and innovative ways in which They would beat particular skills into Their gnarling servants, thus extensive scarring was common to gnarling Miens.

Mien was a vocabulary word that I had know from school, however it came up a lot more often than I had been used to, when reading spirit-touched literature. Mien had clearly been adopted by the fae community to describe their true natures and appearances behind their Masques. Or, possibly, the mortals had misappropriated the word's faery origin.

In Mr. Tallwind's case, his mortal self had been, and his Masque still showed, a late forty year old white man with skin weathered from too much tanning, mud-brown hair and matching eyes, he had had the paunch of a middle aged man that ate too much fast food and sat around more than he exercised. When fae looked at the supposed detective, we saw the extensive burn scars that seemed to cover his left side—arm, neck, and cheeks for certain and probably leg and torso from the slightly stiff way that he moved. Tallwind's hair had become limp and thinning, and his skin sagged and wrinkled, as if he had gained then quickly lost a lot of weight. Plus, Sean had shrunk from five-foot-ten to five-seven or eight and his fingers were all disproportionately long and thin.

The crotchety gnarling wore a plain white dress shirt, long sleeves buttoned to cover as much of his scarring as possible—just like Wade—blue jeans, and hiking boots. Sean was also rarely more than five steps from the Wal-Mart backpack he kept stuffed with all sorts of things, but mostly tools.

Freerunner had stayed five ten, Caucasian and had also once been overweight, with dark brown hair and eyes. In his captivity, 'Runner had developed a sleek swimmers physique, become hirsute to the point of furriness, grown long whiskers from either side of his now pug nose, beadier wide spaced yellowish-brown eyes, high set little ears, and—by his own report—a vestigial tail.

The fuzzy fellow had claimed to be a computer engineer, at least I think he did, the otter-y fellow mumbles and grumbles through every sentence like he is grinding it to mush between his teeth or gargling it in the depths of his throat. Since we escaped, however, the relatively timid man had mostly just driven a taxi around. Which I agreed was smart for securing a vehicle and job all at once, although I doubted he could be making much money in a town as small as Athens Ohio.

'Runner wore another Wal-Mart outfit of hikers, jeans, and a shirt, however like Tegan and myself, he also had purchased more than one shirt and pants—at that point he wore a brown polo pull over, tight enough to show off his expansive pecs. So, the hairy chap was at least collecting enough fares to buy a less cartoon character-like wardrobe.

As the six of us worked at the table, I told the rest of them about the cops from that morning. I lamented, "I have no idea what I'm going to do with my Festiva. I'm sure the car was the only real connection they had of me to the crime scene."

"Why don't you just park it in your shadow-eater's apartment lot?" Gavin suggested. The unfinished sculpture of a man had stopped reading while I spoke and was leaning back in his chair with his coarse hands behind his head—the better to flex his chest.

The suggestion surprised me; it was such an elegant solution. I just did not think any of my companions even thought about the imposter fetch-creatures any more, particularly Gavin as he was the only one of us who's doppelganger had died before we escaped our enslavements. At first I did not like the living-wall's idea, yet after a moment's thought I said, "I had to do a lot to get that Festiva."

I did not voice how much having a car had helped to ground me in this new reality, more than anything had so far. At that time it did not even occur to me to wonder why I might feel the need to protect that information.

Iron Wade sat up, rubbed his dull grey eyes with the heels of his abused hands, and shrugged, then said to me in his flat voice, "I can help you procure another car. Just pick a model from any low security parking lot." His sardonic grin had teeth that seemed a bit grey as well.

I did not know what Wade called the glamour that he used, I just knew that he could pick any lock in seconds. So, the thin gnarling's offer to swipe me a new vehicle would not be hard to fulfill. Tegan and Gavin made sour faces at the suggested larceny, while I mulled it over.

"You know," I said rubbing my chin with my right index finger, "I saw on the fake me's FaceBook; he has a fairly tricked out Mustang. If we timed it right we could leave my Festiva there and drive off with his Mustang. Technically both cars are registered to the same name, as well."

Wade gave a half nod and half shrug. "Sure, I don't see why not."

And that settled it. Even our two pouty comrades had to agree that stealing from Fetch-Tom was not really stealing. After that I had to consciously stop myself from running out to plant the Festiva at Fetch-Tom's place, which was good, as not acting let me really savor planning how to best go about it.

As our sextet continued to research through the mourning, it occurred to me to wonder some more about the manifestations of our various Graces. Between 'Runner's aura of audible rushing water susurrus and the various scents of the other four, I was surprised that I had not become distracted or overwhelmed with a headache like I get in most candle or soap stores. Tegan's alluring floral perfume, mingled with Gavin's mildly acrid smoke smell, which blend to Iron Wades light melancholic aroma of damp fall-leaves, all if which had Sean's scent of a fresh spring rain shower running through them.

In truth, Mr. the Man of Steal's fairly subtle aura of Grace was quite complementary to Gavin's wood smoke aroma. However those two clashed distinctly with the other three, who themselves blended surprisingly well. Clearly, Tallwind, Freerunner, and Tegan had all dinned the Flowered Cape, as one journal I had read put it. Although my mind did boggle that the luscious Bramblerose and the wrinkly mass of Mr. Tallwind could have that much in common. Perhaps Air-Spring simply took in whomever It found that was willing to join that particular party.

In fairly short order, I deduced that the various Grace aspects would each become more noticeable if I concentrated on them, remained a low level potential irritant if I was not thinking about anything in particular, and effectively vanish if my mind was actively focused elsewhere. Thus, while I concentrated on reading, I was not distracted—at least not by the seasonal commitments of my study group. In the auburn-haired lady's case, her enticing aura was a glamour like my own lumor light, so it tended to become more distracting the less I thought about resisting it, regardless of any other concentrating I might be doing.

Eventually, my research team got lucky enough to cajole Alistair to help us a bit. Alistair Tomes was the dapper dressed, fastidious, daytime Head Archivist for Ariadne's rare books collection. The pencil thin fellow was about five-foot-ten (so he and I tend to see eye to eye, at least physically) with glossy ink black hair and precisely trimmed Van Dyke style goatee. Alistair's eyes look like ink, only the irises were deep indigo, while his skin is the pale yellowy-brown of old parchment with black runic tattoos running from his collar to his cuffs. I respected the uptight chap's care for the books and parchments. I also enjoyed mimicking Alistair's OCD mannerisms. I envied the glorified clerk's vintage looking attire, especially the early Victorian style, silver buttoned, black frock coat.

The best that our combined research produced in those hours, had been the Rite of Hospitality: a lesser version of the Domain Rites, of which the Child's Rite was a sort of impressive albeit mid-range potency. With the Rite of Hospitality, each home with a living occupant, a hearth, and a threshold could place before it a talisman that would cause oath breakers and untrue things (such as the conniving Folk) to be repelled. The talismans were fairly easy to come by ranging from bowls of cream to evergreen boughs to salt to holly to bread and more. The talismans were all associated with one season or another and needed to be replaced with the changing of the seasons.

Religious symbols were also mentioned. However, some of my haven-mates had mentioned receiving no particular protection from such objects of faith during their captivities. Plus, a few of my fellows had foraged wyrd successfully at churches, since our liberation. So, our group discounted the idea that religion would stave off the Folk, if it could not stop us.

Foraging is yet another word that had taken on new meaning in my fae filled world. Foraging in general and threshing or winnowing as specific methods were how spirit-touched of that region of the world described collecting wyrd from the dreams and desires of mortals. Wyrd, in turn was the magical energy that fae stored up, then used to power their glamours.

As Red Rhea announced that she would perform the Child's Rite later that same day, my cabal felt that we did not have a lot of time to dally with more research. Our fresh-from-the-Briar and very novice group used Alistair as our one man litmus test/focus group. Our basic proposal had been that the Child's Rite called for the brutalization and possible slaying of a mortal child and that was heinous, even if it was meant to prevent the Bright Ones from being able to steal any more kids away to the Lands Beyond. Alternatively, with some cooperative group effort from all of the local fae, we could blanket the area's homes with the Rite of Hospitality, thus protecting adults and children without having to maim or kill an innocent.

The conversation was stilted and took longer than we cared for, Alistair clearly did not like speaking about the Folk or the Child's Rite. The thought of the ritual gave the thin man even more nervous ticks for me to parody, so that was fun for me, at least. Ultimately, Alistair agreed that the Hospitality ritual was favorable over the Child's Rite and that he thought many others of the spirit-touched communities would be likely to agree as well.

In truth, much of Alistair's reluctance was my group's as well. To get the Rites of Hospitality to function each individual dwelling would need to be addressed one by one. And convincing the unchanged to do the simple ritual themselves, for fear of the Folk, was unlikely. Especially, because revealing our own true fae natures was likely to draw the Bright Ones bent on recapture and They would not stop with just the changelings.

My colleagues and I gathered our various jackets, packs, and in my case trash bag, then went to the tea room. The six of us clubbed together to purchase lunch and had Chef Rosa fill a couple of small picnic baskets, that we would share on the lawn of Ariadne's sculpted Victorian garden. The garden had a view of the Thorny Briar. Our cabal discussed our options further, while we ate.

Eventually, the six of us had a quorum that we must try to get the Salamander Court to forgo the Child's Rite in favor of the Rites of Hospitality. Worst case, that we could imagine, was that we would fail and the Hawk Wood Court would follow through with the Child's Rite. Slightly less worse, we would convince the local fae to not kill the child and maybe we could heal the kid afterwards. Our best case speculation was that we convince the spirit-touched of the Salamander Court and Ariadne's Freehold to work together every three months, enacting the Hospitality ritual thousands of times over. As a collective force, the changeling community could probably canvas the whole area in a day—most likely hiding the talismans on properties in ways that the owners would not notice or disturb them.

I was betting that some of the more experienced spirit-touched could even convince large groups of the mortals to ward themselves, under some other pretense: placing out a bowl of salt in remembrance of the missing children, perhaps, or causing a suburban fad for holly sprig decorations.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

The next step, all six of us agreed, was to talk to as many of the local spirit-touched as possible, as quickly as possible, especially the communities leaders. Thus, we split into two groups. Tegan Bramblerose—our most persuasive—led Iron Wade the Man of Steal and Gavin Granitbane—our two melancholic affiliates—to the Salamander Barrow Mound. Since the Hawk Wood Court was currently governed by fae of Earth-Autumn's Graces, we speculated that our fencer and our ex-fireman may illicit more goodwill and possible attentiveness to our cause. Considering the level of argumentation that I had experienced from the two men, my hopes lay with the no-nonsense ROTC bombshell. Meanwhile, I—our most connected to the members of Sheaves & Leaves—stayed at Ariadne's with Freerunner and Sean Tallwind—our other two arcanists. Theoretically the Spirit Touched that hung around so many rare books would be most savvy about the rituals we were intending to discuss, thus it would be best if our team therein sounded like they knew the right lingo. Of course, I was concerned that no one would understand 'Runner, regardless.

After Tegan's trio packed up and departed into the wild growth of the Briar, my trio stepped back into the Freehold. I spoke to the two men with which I was left, "Okay, so," I clapped and rubbed my hands together trying to generate some enthusiasm, "I think we should split up and slip politely up to as many changelings as we can each find and make our pitch for the Ritual of Hospitality. I figure that should get a grass roots sort of thing going and as we convince others, they will start helping us campaign."

The fuzzy cabbie nodded absentmindedly and wandered back into the garden. I wondered if 'Runner had gotten into whatever Rai ate to make him so aloof, I hoped he would cover talking to the fae that liked to loiter in the garden. Whatever the case, I did not see the svelt otter-man again for hours.

On the other hand, Mr. Tallwind stared at me, with his dull brown eyes, and shrugged lumpy loose-skinned shoulders… If I had had more time, I might have lit him on fire—Ariadne's rules of conduct be dammed—he made me so mad.

It occurred to me, yet again, that any of us only have the grumpy burn victim's word that he had ever a private-eye. Detectives had to talk to people, I just knew they must have, yet Sean seemed content to steadfastly avoid such a task. I had toyed with the idea earlier that the stick-fingered fart had actually been a delusional mental patient only believing himself to have been a gumshoe, before Dr. Anwynn enslaved us, and I was starting to take my own idle musings more seriously.

At least I was able to get Sean's assistance with carting the picnic baskets and dishes back to the tea room. Where, worse still, Raion-ju and Lightning Russel showed up as well. Apparently, Russ had seen the big panther-y man driving his Suzuki, then somehow succeeded in both getting Rai's attention _and_ getting a ride to Sheaves & Leaves. I knew Lightweight Ruffles was no bloomwell, nor did I believe him to have a similar glamour, yet his ability to mooch was starting to seem supernatural.

Rusty's mortal self had been another computer programmer, pasty pale and doughy with dark circles under blue eyes and oily blond hair, he had been 5'10"—all by his own report. Although the self-indulgent oaf would have used creamy-white and curly-blond to describe his skin and hair. Our mutual Keeper, Aeolian, had shrank Mr. L. Russel by two inches, turned the blue of his eyes to a pale electric-sky color, and his blond strands to puffy white cloud-stuff. Rust-head wore the one set of clothes that he had convinced Tallwind to purchase for him, sneakers, jeans, a Thor t-shirt (with the comic book god looking particularly live action), and a puffy green jacket.

Lightening Crusty had also had been another misfit Spring-Air had consented to Grace—perhaps his lewd advances actually helped in that negotiation. Although, I could only see the grass stains hands, I knew the cloud-head's meager Grace also colored his feet, knees, and elbows in the same way. I would not have been surprised if the prig's back and ass matched as well.

Rai was dressed as I had seen him that morning, of course, with the addition of his cheap feud-leather bomber-style jacket.

I led Tallwind, Rai, and Russ back through the rare books while I recounted the morning's research and conclusions. The big man and nimbus-boy looked at me like I had been speaking a foreign language when I briefed them on the plans that the rest of us had made and asked the duo to help with talking to spirit-touched around the Freehold. Then, instead of helping, Rai sat inside with Tallwind, in chairs near the garden entrance, and staring at vague points of nowhere. Kite-string Bussel went and dithered in the garden.

Light-weight Rusty had no idea how lucky he had been that Ariadne banned fighting on Freehold property. On top of everything else, I still vividly recalled the dream that I had on the past Tuesday night, the one where he had stole, or at least mocked my loss of, my flight and where he flaunted—then wasted—the orange…

Why do we say Monday night or Tuesday night, not Monight or Tuesnight? I tried to get a grip on my own rage via distracting thoughts. In a few minutes I had been able to better identify and rank my various irritants.

The thing that bothered me most of all, was that I did not honestly feel like this campaign to prevent the Child's Rite was my business. Ms. Bramblerose and Mr. Granitbane were all fired up over the ritual, as was Mr. the Man of Steal—to a lesser degree. I, however, owed no fealty to Hawkwood Court or Ariadne's. The few people I felt that I knew in either community seemed to agree that the Child's Rite seemed excessive, but could themselves muster no way to overcome the situation. And now I had been left alone to try and rally aid to a cause to whish I had no legitimate connection. Especially as I was not wholly convinced that the Childs Rite was not the best choice, the only steps I truly thought necessary to alleviate some guilt, or whatever, had been to suggest using a terminal kid. Even then I felt my personal conscience was clear for having actually voiced the suggestion.

I stood in the rare books section looking out of the French doors that led to the Victorian-style garden—I purposefully looked where Russ was not. There were usually a dozen, or so, lemurs lounging or cavorting in this garden. Some of the lemurs wore articles of clothing, a vest or baggy pants, or a hat, and so on. One of the trees in the garden bore a fruit that granted it's eater a limited buoyancy and lemurs could often be seen swimming in air to get into a tree, or from tree to tree.

I smiled, remembering Iron Wade's first encounter with the lemurs. The haggard man had approached one of the small simians and said "Hello." It was only our second or third trip to the Freehold and none of us had fully come to grips with all the magic and impossible stuff yet, so I do not believe Wade had honestly expected a reply. The weathered swordsman returned to our group with a slightly haunted expression. We asked how it had went and all Iron Wade said was "I don't speak French." Tegan had over heard the lemurs response and later explained to us that after the fencing instructor said "hello" the simian politely said "Bongiorno" and Wade walked away stunned.

I let the absurd events roll around my mind a while, Wade's lingual misidentification especially tickled me. Then I came to a conclusion, stretched, exhaled, and got moving. The Child's Rite issue was a challenge and I had picked my side, to support my comrades. Regardless of whether my allies all supported me, or put forth any effort. I would fight for my side as best I could, for as long as there was any chance- which meant either we stopped the ritual, or it was completed in spite of us.

It did occur to me that all the other males in our collective were quite gung-ho while the porcelain doll perfect Miss Bramblerose was around and that as soon as she departed the lumps of men I was left with had no further interest. However, even if Tegan was the only thing that kept them acting earlier, it did not change my personal position.

Since I was effectively alone at that point, blanketing the freehold and generating a ground up support was out of the question. If I had a week or more and plenty of wyrd, I probably could have pulled the changelings together. I changed tactics and hoped that Tegan's team was having better luck. If I could not work the bottom up, then I would try the top down.

I started with parking myself and my baggage at a quiet desk and pulling out some paper and a pencil from my backpack. I took thirty or forty minutes to write a poem, an introductory gift. The poem was only ten lines, but I felt it conveyed an appreciative opinion of the Freehold. Then I found Alistair Tomes at his desk on the second floor.

"Alistair," I said as I came up to his perfectly ordered desk, "hello again. I would like an audience with Ariadne… as soon as possible… within the half hour if possible."

The thin dry man stared up at me from the ledger he had been scribing, wide eyed, "Let me make certain I heard you correctly. You are requesting an immediate appointment with the Mistress of this House." He annunciated the capital letters.

"Yes," I smiled as charmingly as possible, "that is correct. I very much would like to speak with her to plead my case."

Alistair's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, then his face turned sour, "Appointments are not rushed to speak with my Lady, in general, and specifically not now, as she has more pressing matters to which to attend." His parchment skin paled a little more.

I recognized that Alistair was not mad, rather he was a little scared to disturb the Freehold's founder and leader. I remembered the darkness in the trees of the Wilder Wood, that the hunter Lor had indicated a couple of days ago. We had been traveling to hear Red Rhea's announcement and I had asked if Ariadne was in the procession. Lor's response was to surreptitiously indicate the dark shape keeping pace high overhead. I did not blame Alistair for his reticence. Normally I would be even more reticent myself, but then normally I do not help fight gangs to death in bar parking lots. I hoped that this reckless disregard for my own wellbeing was not my new, post-change, normal.

I did not waste any more time trying to sway Alistair. If I had to, I could return to the book-jockey and try again later. Fortunately, I had more success with Philomena at the front desk.

After I explained what I wanted, Philomena smiled politely up at me, from her seat behind the desk, and explained. "Ariadne isth mostht likely in the midstht of her private preparationsth to go witnessth the ritual. Thusth, sthe isth very unlikely to restheive sthupplicantsth."

"I certainly understand what you are saying, Philomena." I gave her my widest, puppy doggiest eyes and clutched my wadded up black garbage bag to my chest,. "However, unlikely does not mean definitely not. Is there no way to present her my gift," I reached my right hand into my inner jacket pocket and drew out the neatly folded paper containing the final draft of my poem, all while still holding my trash bag forlornly in the other hand, "and see if Ariadne will see me?"

"Well…" Philomena absently pulled at one of her golden curls and glance sideways as she considered. "Perhapsth if you presthented your gift to the Termigant. He isth Ariadne'sth sthecond and he may petition the Lady for your audienceth."

"That would be wonderful." I had not realized how much real tension had built in me, until I felt it release at Philomena's suggestion. "Will you pass this and my request on then?"

Philomena agreed and called a boy over to relay the poem and request. The boy was made of wood and made gentle hollow thock-thock noises as he walked on the hardwood floors. The tweed clad clerk-lady then explained it might be an hour before a reply returned. I went and sat in the tea room.

To keep myself occupied I composed another poem, while I waited. This poem was geared more specifically to what little I knew of Ariadne, with the standard conceits given to female subjects of poetry mixed in. The end composition was only two stanzas of four lines each, yet it was somewhat better than the one that went to the Termigant. Although, neither of these poems were near as well crafted as what I had produced for Duke Yaya Ti of the Duchy d'Argent. I just could not grasp the right inspiration, amidst my uncertainties. Although, I may have made improvements had I the time to redraft a little more

The wooden boy eventually came to collect me. He was about four foot tall and bore very few signs of having been carved, the wood he was made of was pale, smooth, and glossy as if from oil polish, there were thin lines that indicated each joint. His eyes were a bleached wood with dark wood irises and pupils that seemed like holes. His hair matched the color and consistency of his skin. He wore no clothes and had no visible anatomical gender—so I really only ascribed male based on his hair style.

The wooden boy carried a small chalk board on a string around his neck. After he tapped my elbow, he held up the slate for me to read. "I am Tokka. I will lead you to the Lady."

"_Okay_." I lingered on the word a little, then collected my writing things, and got up. "Lead the way Tokka…" I pronounced it as toke-ah. "Did I pronounce that right?"

Tokka just nodded and headed into the rare books section. Tokka, led me ever upwards through the extra dimensional rooms of the Freehold. Stairs after stairs, some of wood, others stone, metal, and other materials—I think one short set was glass. There may have been a ladder or two, I stopped paying attention after a while. And always books lined the walls, occasionally doors or sitting areas of as many varied descriptions as the stairs; Up, well beyond the parameters of the Sheave & Leaves building as seen from Athens or the Briar-side garden. Possibly, up beyond any building's potential.

Tokka finally stopped at a beaded curtain of glassy greys and whites. Tokka gestured like a game show model, indicating I should head through the curtain without him. I gave Tokka a bow of my head as thanks and stepped through into a solarium.

Much as with my audience with the Duke d'Argent, my memory is selective. I believe my pounding adrenalin kept me from taking in peripheral details. I know the room was well lit, I believe by windows all around and perhaps some lamps. There was a translucent dividing screen, and Ariadne was being washed by attendants from a basin on the floor in which the Lady stood. There must have been furniture, chairs and settees, but I remained standing on an intricately woven rug. I do not recall at all if the room was warm or cool, nor any particular scent. Though there must have been some aroma as later powders and oils would be employed by the attendants.

I let my trash bag full of bloody ball caps and a club slide to the floor behind me, along with my backpack. I wanted to draw as little attention to my shabby belongings as possible while in that room. Thus, I also tried not to fidget with my wholly inadequate garments within the opulently appointed chamber.

The Termigant sat perched on a stool, on my side of the screen. I knew that Philomena had referred to Termagant as "he", but I was still a little surprised that he was—as best as I could tell—male, even though his name classically referred to an unpleasant woman. Termigant was fairly avian, angular features and a beakish nose, dark feathers that shimmered green in the light instead of hair, thin fingers that ended in black talon-like nails, and small sharp eyes with irises of graduated orange hues. The storkish-man wore a well tailored suit of dark green with a vest that had a pattern of orange flowers. I suspected the Termagant Wore the Flowered Cape, yet might also have Raised the Rust-red Spear as I did. I hoped for the latter, as spirit-touched of the same humor tended to get on much easier with each other and with a lot less social hoop jumping.

Of Ariadne's appearance, I remember only a silhouette on the dividing screen, a female silhouette with six arms. I also remember the Lady's voice had a peculiar hum to it, as if she were harmonizing with herself.

"You had words you wished to convey to the Lady of this house?" The Termigant's spoke with a smooth clear tenor and he swept a hand, palm upwards, toward the screen.

"I do." I said not sure whether to look at Termigant or the silhouette. "But first, if I may…" I reached slowly into my breast pocket.

The Termigant raised a feathery eyebrow, but made no other move. Water sloshed gently into the basin off Ariadne, behind the screen.

"I have composed a gift for the Lady." I removed and unfolded my most recent poem.

Both of the Termigant's eyebrows rose. He nodded in what I took to be an approving manner.

"I have only just completed the poem and have not had the time to practice its recitation. Also, oratory is not my strong suit, thus I hope judgment of my performance may be tempered." I cleared my throat and read the poem. When I was done, the Termigant held a hand out to collect the paper—I took this as a positive sign. I took two steps forward, handed Termigant the poem, and then one large step backward.

"I am here to propose an alternative course of action to the one proposed by Red Rhea the day before last." I applied wyrd to my words and glamoured my chances of succeeding in these efforts to be as eloquent and favorable as possible. In addition to Fairest Tongue, the glamour that I called Fortunes Favor increased the likelihood of any one action's success and was, of course, a favorite of mine.

"Why," Ariadne's voice thrummed with the strange duality, "did you not voice this alternative at that meeting?"

"My allies and I are new to this world of courts and Freeholds. At the time we had no understanding of what other options there may be. Since then we have researched within your own walls, as well as conferred with others outside of these territories." I tried to make my tone deferential.

"What has your research revealed?" the hum was like silk threads brushing against the back of my brain.

I made my pitch as politely and succinctly as I could. I pressed the theme that every child is as valued as the next, so even sacrificing one should be unacceptable. I outlined how the Rites of Hospitality could be used to the same effect, greater even as it would protect adults as well, albeit with a little more effort from Court and Freehold members. I spoke for what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes and could not say with certainty exactly what words I used—I blame the magic I had employed on myself and adrenalin.

Ariadne had stepped out of the basin and the attendant's shadows had moved on to toweling, powdering, and make up—although the last is just a guess on my part. The Lady asked the same question Alistair had, "How do you expect to convince the mortals to take up the old ways?"

"I have a couple of ideas," I tried not to think about dry mouth or flop sweat, "I hope between this Freehold and the Salamander Court there are others that are more clever and could expand on, and add to, them. With that in mind, I imagine that a viable starting place would be that s fair number of the mortals could be convinced to purchase and display talismans as remembrances of the children that had been lost. Thus, not only enacting the Rites of Hospitality, but also opening a new source of revenue for the changelings that sell the talismans. Other people are likely to succumb to a fad for displaying certain talisman items on their property. Obviously, the more well spoken and charming spirit-touched in the communities would be best suited to orchestrating such fads and we would still make certain to provide the appropriate talismans, to prevent plastic imitations."

I tried to reinforce the legitimacy of this plan, "The literature suggests several options appropriate to each season, so each method could employ a different focus."

"For the few houses that did not select their own wards," I tried to wrap up with strong team work appeal, "I am sure that the community of spirit-touched could canvas the area in a day or two and surreptitiously place the needed talismans…"

I spent another five or ten minutes trying to emphasize the values of working together and communal strength through goals achieved together.

"Would Hospitably be fulfilled," the Lady inquired "if the resident did not consciously place the ward?"

I could not tell if Ariadne did not know the answer, or if she knew it would not work and was plying me with the Socratic method. I replied, "The research my comrades has conducted only stressed that the ward tokens be placed and replaced seasonally. There is no emphasis on whom does the placing."

Ariadne did not speak for a minute. I could not tell if she was just thinking, or preoccupied with her preparations. I glance at Termigant for the first time in a long while and the feathery fellow had not moved, nor did his expression offer me any idea of how I was doing.

When the Lady did speak again, the hum-thrum of her voice was distinctly more businesslike. "Members of this Freehold are bound to the neutrality it represents. We have no voice in what decisions Hawk Wood makes. Thus, if they choose to enact the Child's Rite there is nothing we can do to prevent them." Her tone shifted to a slightly less matter-of-fact coldness. "While the Court of the Mid-West Territories does span a significant region of the Mortal World, our Freehold owes as much allegiance to the then as to nearly a dozen others. Involving my people in the manner in which you propose would constitute favoritism to the Salamander Court, of which the other courts would not approve."

I pouted to myself briefly. There was way more politics involved than I had imagined and I saw Ariadne's points. I pretty much knew I was not going to sway this diplomatic leader, but I made it this far and tried anyway. "I certainly understand your political position more clearly. However, your voice must carry some advisory value, regardless of the court in question- doubly so, by my reckoning. First, for maintaining a neutral Freehold, whish seems twice more difficult than an insular court. Secondly, for being, and having access to, so many scholars; such compiled knowledge must carry worth."

"Mmmm…" Ariadne's throaty hum of considerations sounded like it might be topped with a smile of appreciation, Then she said, like a mom trying to explain sharing to a toddler for the first time, "You truly must be as fresh out of the Hedge as you claimed. My position and resources are precisely why I may not advise any of the courts. Regardless of what the motivation, the others would sight favoritism, which is inherently not neutral." At least she did not feel I needed single syllable words.

"Yet," I hoped I had caught a flaw in her logic, "you and your people attended the announcement and discussion thereafter on Wednesday and are even now preparing to attend the ritual itself." I hoped my voice sounded pleading rather than accusatory. "Does that not already make you a part of the events and their purpose?"

I saw two of the Lady's arm shadows brush away my question. "A guest is not responsible for how their host fences their yard."

I exhaled deeply. Then I desperately started to grasp for straws, "If the Child's Rite is truly intended to help the whole mortal region, then Sheaves & Leaves benefits as much from it for being within the same mortal region. In turn, the Freehold also must bare some responsibility for receiving the benefits."

"If my neighbor mows my lawn to my satisfaction," the tickly voice countered without hesitation, "without my requesting the service and asking for no remuneration, then I have no obligation to them or the work they did."

The throaty leader was right. I tried going through the argument again anyway, albeit with slightly different wording. Ariadne held firm on all her points especially that Neutral Territory meant not getting involved.

"I very much appreciate all that you have said, even more so all that you have let me say." My shoulders sagged in spite of my efforts to stand tall. I knew I should leave, Termigant had extended a favor to a total stranger for a simple poem, and Ariadne had been more than generous with her time. However, I risked over staying my welcome even further, with another request, "Before I go, however, I would ask one more small boon."

Ariadne was being dressed at this point, in many many wispy scarves, as far as I could tell. I saw no change in the body language of her silhouette. The Termigant, on the other hand, had sat back straight and frowned at my presumption.

After a two second pause, I carried on, "I shall be going next to the Salamander Court, where I am even more unfamiliar than here. Would you please provide me a list of the names and identifying characteristic of the more influential members of that court? I am not asking for any political leaning or private information. I merely wish to spend less time going from person to person trying to assess their possible ability to sway court opinion. As you well understand, my goals have a distinct time limit."

Ariadne granted my request to the Termigant's mild surprise. I do not know if my arguments had impress the Lady, or perhaps my glamour had swayed, maybe she saw no harm in releasing such simple information, or thought I would not stop pestering her without some measure of success, perhaps she wanted to inflict me on certain members of the local court, or may be it was a combination of all of these. Whatever the reason, the Termagant took five minutes to write up a list of almost a dozen Hawkwood member's titles, names, and simple physical descriptions.

I bowed deeply to the Termigant and Ariadne's shadow. I backed towards the doorway still bent over until I was able to collect my bags, then straightened and backed the rest of the way through the beaded curtain. Thankfully, well polished Tokka had remained waiting to return me to the more familiar ground floor… Or the lad had been eavesdropping. Either way, all that mattered to me was that I did not have to guess my way back.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

The panther-esque Raion-ju and unnaturally-marred Sean Tallwind were easily found right were I had seen them last, hours ago—slumped into a pair of armchairs like mostly deflated beach balls. My failure to secure Ariadne's support only exacerbated my fury and disgust at my housemates' complete lack of assistance.

I walked past the duo without slowing and said, "I'm going to the Barrow Mound, maybe I'll see you later."

I assumed that I would be able to follow the Ways that led from Ariadne's Freehold to the seat of the Court of the Midwest Territories without assistance. Ways was yet another one of those words that had gained new meaning in my life after being forcibly changed. On its own, the pan-dimensional Briar was not stable or consistent or predictable or any of the things that would have made traveling through it even slightly less nerve-wracking. Spirit-touched had, long since before my time, figured out how to sort of tame narrow strips of the shifting Inbetween and those paths were called Ways in the references that I had read. Properly maintained Ways always lead from the same location to the same other locations to which the Ways had been established. Even though I had only ever been on the Ways to the salamander-shaped burial site in Hawk Wood State Forest twice—once to the Mound and once returning to the Freehold—I understood that the very nature of the Ways meant that all I had to do was not wander off of it to get back again.

Sean and Rai sprang up like they had been waiting for the go sign and stayed on my heels. Of course, ask for help and they ignore me, hope they will fall in a deep hole far away and they cannot wait to be near me—it is like my own personal little subset of Murphy's Law, 'Tommy's Addendum' perhaps. As if I had missed the Multi-verse's message, the cloud-haired Lightning Russel was in the garden and saw us heading into the Wilder Wood, which meant that he just had to tag along as well. Of the four so-called allies that I had been left with at Ariadne's, Freerunner was the only one that I felt any respect for at that time and, of course, he was the only one that was nowhere to be seen.

I still felt like I owed Lice-ring Rust-head a serious beating for what he had done to me before we fled our durance, yet I could not be bothered to deal with him right then. Not knowing exactly when the Child's Rite ritual would start, I did not feel like I had time to smack Ruster around or look for 'Runner. I certainly considered again making that time and hoping the ritual went on while I did, then I could honestly say I had tried to help my other allies stop the Rite. However, I quickly came to the same conclusion as earlier, I committed to doing whatever I could to stop the Child's Rite and I would know if I had not kept true to that course.

Since I did have no idea how much time was left before the ritual was to start, I hoped the whole way to the Barrow Mound that Tegan Bramblerose's team had experienced more success swaying court members to our cause, than I had with Ariadne and her Freehold. As I walked, I mentally composed another poem lauding the Hawk Wood Court, just in case it may come in handy as a gift or appeasement.

Either the thoughtless Gyr wanted to make me scream for having to rely on the people that would not support me, or It truly loved me and knew I would need Rai's aid even if I was upset about it. The Ways we followed had vanished about a half hour out from Sheaves & Leaves. The infernal Briar had grown thorny in the place that the Ways had once been, more wild in fact than I had seen of the twisting Edge Maze thus far. With Rai's glamour enhanced guidance, however, our quartet still made it through to our destination in just over an hour. It should have taken closer to twenty minutes via the Ways, although without the felinoid chap, I would probably still be wandering around out there.

One of the glamours that Raion-ju knew how to cast granted him the ability to more easily find his way through the Briar. Tegan knew the same magic. I believed, from bits and pieces that I had read while researching other matters, that the Way Finding glamour would also allow its wielders to find a particular thing in the Thorny Tangle, like clean water or a friendly mount. However, I had not yet seen any confirmation of that aspect of the faery magic. I suspected that the alternate use of the glamour, somehow upset my colleagues, by being too beneficial, or versatile, or something.

In the couple of weeks that my fellows and I had been traversing the Briar, I had grown accustomed to certain features, the canopy overhead became so thick so quickly that it was nighttime dark just a few yards in. Also, that forest always seemed like high autumn, sixty-five to seventy degree days, forty degree nights, smells of distant burning leaves, pumpkins, cider, hay, and the like, with sounds of rustling and occasional snaps that always seemed too close and rarely as if the wind could be blamed.

The even more wild Wilder Wood that we four entered kicked the whole experience into a higher gear; darker, colder, louder and creepier noises—every bird sound seemed like a raptor's shriek, each snap the crack of a tree almost falling on us. Even the aromas seemed more threatening, like the forest may be burning, or decaying corpses were just out of sight. In addition to thorny branches and vines and massive roots that all seemed to grab at our clothes and feet, thick banks of fog and smoke would roll through obscuring our already limited vision.

I concentrated and intensified the faery light that I produced as bright as I could. Tegan's bloomwell fragrance might seem more useful at times, however I had more control over my lumor glow. My illumination even helped a little in the meandering fogs and smokes.

I could have also cast my Summer's Embrace glamour to keep myself feeling a comfortable seventy-two degrees; I even had wooden camping matches that would allow me to enact the magic without expending of my stored wyrd. If I had been willing to waste the magical energy, then I could have even extended the comforting warmth to anyone within my luminous aura. I was in so miserable a mood, however, that I just turned up my collar and slipped on my hat and gloves. Sometimes it is best to simply wallow in the discomforts that the world heaps on you; I tried to use that time to gather strength for later strategic strikes back at the metaphoric bully.

The only limited blessing on that trip had been that all of my traveling companions had kept their yap-traps shut. At least, it was quiet until Rai had to lead us off the Ways, then Light-ass Russel would not stop wining about the terrain and the thorns. The supposed PI grumbled too, but by comparison, he was hardly noticeable.

The four of us exited the wild Briar into the clearing around the Barrow Mound. The clearing was mostly the same as the last time that I had seen it, save for the surrounding Wilder Wood was far denser with all manner of vegetation and outside the Barrow's entrance a massive bonfire had been constructed.

The blaze was wider than the large stone double doors that stood open into the Mound and it burned over two stories high. Which was apparently not good enough, as the flames were being fed and encouraged to grow by a dozen or so spirit-touched that would toss eight to ten foot long logs in, then return to the overgrown Briar for more.

I convinced myself that the bonfire was the source of the burning forest smell and waves of smoke from the journey I had just completed. Billowing dark smoke certainly plumed from the mighty flames and roiled along the dense branches over head.

There were many other changelings of various types and sizes scurrying about the clearing or into the Wilder Wood or the Barrow, fulfilling other tasks. All were presumably in preparation for the Child's Rite. Although, the value or purpose of some tasks escaped me—I had no idea why several of the court members seemed to be collecting butterflies, for example.

I did not see anyone that I knew outside, or anyone of import according to the list that Ariadne had granted me. So, I entered the Barrow, the Hall of the Hawk Wood Court. I tried to ignore Rai, Sean, and Russ, but I knew they followed me anyway. Lots of people had been passing in and out of the gaping hole in the belly of the Salamander Mound and my group went through just as easily. I had been worried that some mystic ward would prevent non-members admittance. Either the doors were good enough to keep any unwanted out, or the wards had been lifted for the ritual.

Passing through the short, three or four pace wide, distance between the towering flames and the Mound was not nearly as warm as I had expected. Although the interior of the mound was warmer than a mostly stone structure should have been, probably in the upper seventies.

I had not been surprised to see that the interior was more like a building than ancient grave. I was a little surprised at the gothic, cathedral style of the inner architecture, though. The gothic part seemed to fit with many of the court members that I had witnessed. It was the cathedral aspect that felt off, it seemed far more reverent than I had expected. I made allusions earlier to thinking of the Gyr as having a personality, however that had been just a convenient scapegoat. I like most spirit-touched—at least from what I had gathered, reading stories in Sheaves & Leaves—were not particularly religious. Which might have made the architecture an ironic statement, yet little touches and the way courtiers moved in the place, strongly suggested that they took it more seriously.

It had been clear from the way Red Rhea spoke, proclaimed really, at her announcement the other day that she was a zealot. After researching the Child's Rite, I was convinced that Rhea was devoted to The Gyr. Of the few spirit-touched that are religious, The Gyr is what the vast majority of them worshiped. However, Red Rhea was a visitor to the Midwest Territories, so I had assumed she held respect more for her renown scholarly accomplishments, rather than her devotion to a belief system. After all the Salamander Court was currently and most often controlled by those that have Gazed into the Cracked Mirror; according to the literature, the fae that had received Autumn-Earth's Graces were best known for their dedication to scholarly pursuits. Considering Rhea's obvious leanings and looking at where the leaders of the Salamander Court lived, I started to slide my expectations of them away from the arcane investigators interpretations and towards being amongst the religious minority.

My two semesters as an architecture undergrad came back to me strung as I passed through the dark transept, the many gathering areas were lit with candles and light from stained glass windows set high in the walls. The windows glowed with a light brighter than the one I had left outside, perhaps a torch or something was set behind each, although my impression was that they led to a different outside than the entryway. The colors of the decorative panes were so brilliant that they may have been jewels rather than glass.

I paused at a quiet apse in which was small table and lit candle. My traveling companions finally went on without me, to the central naive. I pulled out my writing supplies from my backpack and wrote out the poem that I had worked out on the journey. I also took a few minutes to try and brush off my khaki slacks and large Jacket, then straightened my hair. I reviewed my list of important court members and tucked it away again.

I did also, pull out a match, struck it, concentrated on invoking the correct glamour, and spit out the flame. As I would be trying to present the best possible impression of myself and our group's cause, I felt it had been wise to reduce the number of possible reasons for flop sweat. As Summer's Embrace cooled me slightly, I tucked away the spent match.

I did not know if the Salamander Court enforced any weird littering policies, nor if any of the members could use a small amount of my saliva against me. So, I chose to err on the side of caution.

I removed my coat and carried it with my backpack and trash bag in my left hand. Again I had been mainly trying to present a more put-together impression and I felt that the pack said inexperienced student, while the garbage bag suggested poverty. Plus, I worried that the bloody caps might still draw some unwanted attention, even through their Ziploc bags. Although, if one of the Court's spirit-touched could sense the blood through that much plastic, then nothing I did would have been able to stop them. In any case, I grasped my articles in such a way as to allow my jacket to cover the bags fairly thoroughly.

There were open arcades off of the naïve and many rooms and doors off of the arcades. Perhaps a couple score or more fae mingled, danced, and gamed in discrete pairs or groups throughout. There were spirit-touched of every type and manner, although the colors and trappings of Autumn hung on the majority: oranges, silvers, browns, blacks, leaves, straw, and the like abounded.

I recognized several of the courtiers from Red Rhea's announcement-gathering. More importantly, I identified several of the people from The Termigant's list. Queen Glass Refractory was one from both meetings, her liquid bronze features never seemed to stop shifting from one appearance to another. The toothpick thin ballerina, slowly dancing and bending in impossible angles, must have been Little Miss Pity. The boisterous guffaw from by one of the large fireplaces turned out to have come form Tom of the Grotto, a living mountain. The zombie-like fellow with the big black top hat must have been Baron Samdi. Tinkly bells near the door drew my eye to a woman in belly-dancer attire, her middle eastern features and the flowers in her hair pegged her as Scheherazade.

I found it hard to believe that such renown characters of myth and legend as Baron Samdi and Scheherazade would actually choose to settle in Athens Ohio. Until proven otherwise, I worked on the assumption they had been normal people like me that, unlike me, had plucked a name to use, one of power and comfort from stories that they had known. It sometimes made me wonder how many other captives of the Folk had selected the same names over the years and how many of them may be free at the same time?

Samdi and Glass were both listed as melancholic. Tom of the Grotto had been a regent of the cholericly oriented—I knew I had liked the look of him, even from twenty yards away. Little Miss Pity had been a high ranking member of the phlegmatic contingent of the court, while Scheherazade held similar stature with the those of sanguine humor. I did not see the icy regents Jackie Snow or Slyboots—not that I ever expected to see the living shadow that was Slyboots—so, I guessed Miss Pity had been in the communal area as the official Winter-Water representative .

It was easier to pick out the important people than I had expected, as they tended to be the central focus of the larger groupings. Of course, without my list I would have had to spend time discovering names. Also, I might have wasted time thinking the central figures were merely entertainers, since Miss Pity danced and Scheherazade and Mr. Grotto told stories for their respective clusters of spirit-touched.

I also spotted my newbie-allies spread out around the place. I had been pleased to see that Tegan and Wade had entered into conversations with a couple of the court bigwigs. Gavin Granitbane seemed to be gathering his own little audience. I even noticed our group's prodigal daughter Dark Sol in one of the shadowier corners, talking to someone that I could not see.

I was always conflicted when I thought about the pale goth girl of our collective. As a mortal Sol had been a Lit major, as I had become after leaving the architecture program, only she had been completing her Masters rather than starting her undergrad. So, I had felt some solidarity with Sol at the Kendal study, before everything went fae-shaped. Sol had been a pleasantly plump, 5'4", white woman in her mid-twenties with wavy natural blond hair past her shoulder and cornflower blue eyes. After our escape, the pale Midwestern lady had become even paler, in daylight Sol's skin looked waxy or chalky and seemed limp on her nearly emaciated frame, while in dark places her skin was taught and almost opalescent over firm muscles. The pale woman's hair varies from brittle bleach white tangles to shimmering platinum waves depending on the amount of daylight as well. Also, for a brief period Sol's blue eyes had turned all black, as if her pupils had expanded to encapsulate the whole of each eye.

More than anything, Dark Sol's additional method of "feeding", was probably what gave me the most pause regarding the darkling woman. Mouths could open within the palms of Sol's hands and she could somehow suck in the vitality of others. I had only ever seen the mercurial woman effect a mortal, although I suspected that her draining magic would effect other spirit-touched as easily as did Tegan's faery aroma.

Dark Sol had also revealed to me and my haven-mates that she had been tattooed during her fae captivity, with strange black writing along either side, and the full length of, her spine. I could not, nor did I desire to try to, imagine what the former grad student had endured at the hands of her Keeper. The tats must have been the least of Sol's torments—what had to have been done to force her to grow mouths on her hands? So, as horrified about the palm-maws and life draining as I was, I also felt some pity for the once healthy-looking lass.

Plus, Sol's own small melancholic Grace created a hair raising eerie chill when in her presence. Which only helped the sometimes sickly darkling to fit easily in with the Salamander court. The blond had always been cheerful and talkative and that had not changed, except for when she suffered sun sickness. Plus, of course, her bubbly chit-chat had turned to favor subjects like the hospital morgue and the various shades of terror that people could display.

In that buried place, Sol had been opalescent, shapely, and dressed for her new life as well. Always in black and the outgoing lady did have more than one outfit. Although, I suspected that Sol did not shop at Hot Topic, so much as, she just raided corpses from the hospital. That night, Dark Sol wore tight black jeans tucked into knee high boots that laced up the side, a satiny top that technically may have been lingerie, and an unzipped hoody sweat shirt.

As Sol seemed deeply engaged with some unseen partner in her alcove, I counted myself lucky, for not having to interact more directly with the creepy lady and my mixed feelings about her. Looking away from Sol, I caught sight again of the alluring Ms. Bramblerose and her own creepy conversation partner, Baron Samdi—another darkling if ever there was one.

I was fascinated that stunning, sanguine humored, Tegan Bramblerose had been conversing with a man with half a skull for a face and bony hands: clearly part of the Baron's Autumn-Earth Grace. The tall Baron stood—loomed, really—very close to the voluptuous Bramblerose and seemed quite proprietary of her with his stance and casual gestures. It was, of course, impossible to read Samdi's facial expressions as there was so little flesh for with he could express. The thing that truly had me staring, though, was that Tegan did not seem to mind the courtier's overtures. Was the ROTC major that good an actress and only leading the Baron on for assistance with our cause? Or, had our group's bloomwell into mostly dead guys—as if he were fertilizer for her flowery self?

I tore my attention away, before I developed any mental images that I would regret. It helped that I had noticed the Baron's wine server. I recognized the attendant as the wet grey lady from my first encounter with Alistair Tomes. If the soggy girl had to serve food and drink while everyone else mingled and prepared for a rare show, then it was no wonder that she seemed to be damned depressed. The server wore a grey dress and shawl and her hair hung limp and grey as well. The woman constantly dripped water, as if she had been in her own private rain storm, only the water drops just appeared on her skin and clothes to roll down at their leisure. Had I not been closer to the monochromatic woman on an earlier occasion, I would have thought she had been melting wax from the distance that I observed her refilling the Baron's goblet.

I thought it was odd that the drippy damsel seemed to be the Baron's personal servant. No other courtiers that I could see had dedicated attendants. Even more strange was that from the lady's wet nature and her mopey demeanor, I had been fairly certain that she was of a phlegmatic humor. I had assumed that members of the various Graces would tend to stick together. The Winter-Water girl serving the distinctly melancholic Baron made me wonder if there were steeper hierarchy than I had imagined within the Hawk Wood Court.

My musing prompted my to Little Miss Pity, the one other courtier present that I was confident had been phlegmatically inclined. Iron Wade had just made it to the front of the ring of admirers around nigh impossibly thin dancer. The woman was practically a stick-figure, only the slightest definition of shoulder and hip seemed to offer purchase for her clothes, which may be part of the reason that the ballerina wore a skin-tight, snow white leotard. Although, Miss Pity did also sport a gauzy white skirt and toe-shoes that looked more like ice picks than footwear. Little Miss Pity's head made her seem somewhat lollipop-shaped when she stood straight and craned her neck up to look Wade in his semi-metallic grey-eyes.

It looked like the fencer had caught the wisp of a ballerina during a break, she produced a pair of spectacles from somewhere and wore them while speaking to the tall weathered man. I thought the glasses turned Little Miss's large pale blue eyes into glossy icy-pools that I had only ever seen before in anime cartoons.

Time had kept on ticking and I was still part of the stop-Red-Rhea's-madness team, so I stopped gawping and pick a bigwig or my own to pester. The Regent Refractory, Queen Glass, was in the center of the largest cluster of courtiers. So, I started towards Tom of the Grotto, I figured he and I would have more common ground to start from anyway, having both raised the Rusted Spear.

That is when my rocky ally made his move. Gavin Granitbane had decided to get the Queen's attention with a show of strength and I do mean show. The once upon a time fireman's-calendar cover-boy had stripped to his blocky and pebbly reddish-orange waist, then started striking bodybuilder poses. Once Mr. G had built up a sheen of sweat—making his unfinished dry clay physique look like unfinished wet clay-he stacked a couple of the stone banquette tables atop each other and added as many spirit-touched volunteers on thick wooden chairs, as he could wrangle. Gavin then crawled under the whole pile and lifted it over his head, he spun slowly, posing the whole time.

My jaw dropped. I knew the bodybuilder 'come ogre was strong, but I had no idea that he had that kind of showmanship. The Spectacular Mr. Granitbane's ploy worked, when he safely set the table down, Queen Glass beckoned him over. Needless to say, Gavin's display had also drawn most everyone else's attention as well. Then to have the Queen call him over, caused the court to remain hushed and listen to what the earthen newcomer had to say. Since the other conversations were on hold, I drifted toward my rocky comrade, from the corners of my eye, I saw that most of my other associates did the same.

Gavin, often sort of a lumbering jock, presented himself well enough; polite bow and dignified posture, yet had trouble articulating our concerns to Queen Glass Refractory. The rough edged man spoke with lots of half starts and then tried to back track to clarify something he was about to say. The conversational effort had not been quite as bad as a first grader trying to explain a trip to the zoo, although it had not been far off either. I spare you, dear reader, the tediousness of a transcription of the dialog verbatim.

As far as I have ever been able to determine, the "normal" appearance—perhaps standard default appearance—of Queen Glass was a 5'7" featureless, form made of uniform bronze and polished to mirror shine without any visible seams or joint lines. The monarch did regularly have feminine curves, although smoothed, as if she were wearing a form fitting metal leotard from head to toe. On the other hand, Ms. Refractory rarely remains the same size or shape for long and I had only seen her on a few occasions, so perhaps I had a poor sample size of her appearances from which to be drawing conclusions.

As Gavin spoke and gesticulated for the Queen, her head metamorphosed into a more avian appearance, including beak. Glass reminded me of depictions of Egyptian gods. The Regent Refractory's voice, however, remained clear and musical as a glass harp, throughout the impromptu audience.

It only took our muscle man a minute or two to realize that he needed help and spotting Tegan nearby, he gestured her over. I think normally only the Queen would call people to her presence, however, Queen Glass did not seem to mind on that occasion. I suspect that since Baron Samdi continued to escort my fair bloomwell ally, any social impropriety was mitigated.

Mr. Granitbane introduced Miss Bramblerose to the Queen. I think Samdi glowered or frowned at the wall of a man for having been circumvented, however with so little face to read, I admit that I was mostly guessing. Tegan had been polite and succinct, she did not try to be flowery in her speech, nor did she fall into the same hole that Gavin had by trying to make a story of it. Instead, the buxom bloomwell simply presented the facts and her concerns regarding the Child's Rite, as she saw them, and the alternatives that our collective had compiled.

I was pretty certain that Tegan had employed her own Fairest Tongue glamour. Even so, the pretty girl's words seemed to have no greater effect than had the fireman's. As Tegan spoke the Regent Refractory had refined her bird to distinctly blackbird characteristics. Looking back on it later, I realized Glass must have been mocking—specifically mockingbird—my associates. Generally the Queen's few remarks amounted to, "Red Rhea has assured Us of the efficacy and importance of the Child's Rite, perhaps you should have her explain it to you in more detail." Which I felt was fairly threatening, assuming the worst we thought of Rhea turned out to be true.

When Tegan had concluded, Queen Glass's ringing tones came from her black bird's beak, "Red Rhea is a well known and respected scholar of rituals and glamours. You have barely been out of the Briar for a fortnight. It seems clear upon whose research skills We should rely."

Tegan's full lips drew firm and tight and a blush bloomed across her creamy freckled cheeks.

The court members were clearly inclined to follow whatever lead their Queen offered. Whispers and a few titters started passing through the cathedral's naïve.

Iron Wade and I had wound up next to each other in the small crowd around the Queens throne—really just one of the largest chairs, set up on a stone step. The fencing instructor turned oil change specialist and I exchanged a glance that said "I don't care for how our allies are being treated, do you?" then we caught Gavin's eye and gestured for him to bring us into the discussion. I did not particularly care about protocol at that point anyway, however having successfully summoned and introduced Tegan, the rock-man's precedent was set.

I bowed, although not as deeply as possible when Gavin presented, "two more of my companions, Iron Wade the Man of Steal and Twilight Tommy."

I spoke next and Wade did not seem to mind. The point that had stuck in my craw was that the Queen had deflected or dismissed Tegan's concerns for the child to be sacrificed. Also, I did feel Miss B had failed to be specific enough. By the time I was within the circle of conversation, Queen Glass's appearance had almost shifted back to her featureless bronze "norm".

I spoke as quietly as I could, while still making sure that the nearest courtiers could overhear me. "Thank you Majesty, for considering our proposals. As my colleague had briefly mentioned, we have spent the greatest part of the past three day uncovering the lore surrounding the Child's Rite." I kept my hands clasp in front of me, holding my coat and bags as one might an old time muffler, and looked into the reflection of my own eyes, made more golden in the bronze mirror of the Queen's face. "I do appreciate that you have already stressed that the visitor Red Rhea has made assurances that the child used in the ritual will not be overly harmed. However, sources are very explicit that for the ritual to actually function the child would need to die or be severely maimed."

The Regent Refractory's crown of jagged glass grew like stop motion crystal formations about her head and her bronze coat crazed. The monarch's tone was also a bit sharper when she replied, "As I have already suggested, it seems that you should speak with Red Rhea, as your sources were incorrect."

I dug in and made one last attempt, "Perhaps we," I nodded to Tegan and Gavin, "had not been clear, our sources have not merely been second or third hand written accounts. I spoke with Duke Yaya Ti of the Western Territories yesterday and he had bore witness to a Child's Rite where the child did not die. Even he would not go into detail about the child's final condition, beyond using the phrase 'permanently mangled'."

Queen Glass Refractory's "skin" cracked further, my reflection blurring to in-distinction with all the lines and edges that appeared. Frills of glass shards grew from about the Queen's person, mostly at the joints. I realized with a start that something I had said, possibly everything I had said, had pissed the monarch off and this was her mad face. I became uncomfortably aware of how damaging a smack from a hand effectively full of hundreds of glass shards would be, also that I had no protection beyond flimsy Old Navy attire, which seemed extra flimsy in the tiny glinting rainbows off of the hundreds of sharp edges before me.

I became immensely grateful for Iron Wade's speaking up just then. I did not hear what my cohort had to say for as soon as the Queen's head turned to see who spoke, I backed out of the ring of courtiers as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

I do not know exactly why our information pissed the Queen off so much. I suspected mentioning an official from another court might be insulting. However, my feeling had been that the monarch was more upset that we were speaking truths that contradicted the story Red Rhea had told, or perhaps had fed to them. Even so, I wondered if the Queen knew that we were right, or was just upset that Red Rhea may have duped her. I strongly suspected the former, since Glass Refractory kept trying to send us to the Rhea woman.

Meanwhile, I had also been harboring a fear that Ms. Rhea had a powerful mind control glamour, which was why we had been getting so much resistance. Rhea had had time to slowly build up the glamour throughout every level of the Court and Ariadne's Freehold. As newcomers, we had not been affected, but I did not relish the idea of facing the scholar directly, even with my companions.

Regardless, I backed politely out of the Queen's immediate presence. The other of my allies in attendance followed suit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

My cabal regrouped in an apse off of a main arcade, near to but out of direct site of the court gathered in the central naïve. I remember that Tegan Bramblerose and Gavin Granitbane had been there. I think Raion-ju, and maybe even Dark Sol had joined the party for at least a little while—since neither of them had anything to contribute to our discussions or efforts I really had given up on paying attention to them. Sean Tallwind had definitely been with us for at least a short period as well.

Iron Wade the Man of Steal had returned to his lesser audience with Little Miss Pity. Theoretically, Lightning Russel was still somewhere within the Court as well. I had some hope that at least Wade was being productive on our collective's behalf.

After comparing notes, our mini-convention sadly decided that we had made no real progress. Tegan had discovered that the ritual was scheduled to start just before midnight, which left us about six hours to stop it, if we could.

I sighed and ran both golden-grown hands through my silken hair. I wanted to throw in the towel and leave the Hawk Wood Court to their creepy-ass Child's Rite. However, I felt like I had joined a team. A Team to which Gavin and Tegan were currently team captains, and neither of them were ready to give up. I wondered if any of the other humors had my level of loyalty to a cause, or if it was a special trait of those of us that had been Graced by Summer-Fire.

"Well," I summed up, "I think our only solution left is a last minute grassroots campaign. We commit to tell every spirit-touched we can get to listen. I figure it's just a matter of telling them the real situation and convincing as many as possible to speak out as a group against the ritual."

"Oh, is that all we need to do?" Tegan rolled her wide sparkling green eyes, then raised her deceptively delicate hands and lowered her head apologetically. "No, sorry, I don't like it, but I agree that's our best bet now."

"I don't know," Gavin held his cubical right elbow in his boxy left hand while rubbing his orange block chin with his brick of a right hand, "we could just grab the kid away from wherever they got him? Or if we can't find him beforehand, grab the kid from the ritual itself."

The beauteous Miss B and I exchanged skeptical glances, she said, "I'm not sure we could pull that off."

"Let's keep it on a back burner." I offered. I just did not want to spend the next half hour discussing the logistics of such a dangerous hypothetical. "Keep an eye out for where the kid might be and if we can't get some support by… say elevenish, then we revisit counter-kidnapping."

At some point during our conference I had gotten the grumpy Mr. Tallwind to let me use some of the duct tape I knew he carried with him. Also, Gavin had been re-donning his red-flannel shirt and jacket. So, I asked the big guy, "Hey, uh, Gavin? Could you do me solid and carry my stuff for a while? I thought I would have been back at our haven by now and it's a bit heavy for me."

I had no real trouble with the weight. I just wanted someone else to carry my stuff, especially the hats and weapons that could tie us back to the previous night's crime scene. Gavin, of course, did not hesitate to accept my burden. As ogre-y as he was in battle the night before, the fireman-turned-bouncer was always eager to assist someone he considered a friend. I used Sean's tape to affix my trash bag to my backpack, then adjusted the pack's straps to allow Gavin to wear it comfortably.

My co-conspirators all agreed to the grassroots effort, followed by a potential re-kidnapping of the rituals sacrifice. We headed back into the greater Hawk Wood community.

I did intend to follow our collective's plan, eventually, but first, I wanted to see if I could provoke a coupe. While my allies and I had been reporting our various failures to thwart this particular Child's Rite, it had occurred to me that it was likely to be performed no matter what we did or said. Then I thought forward and realized that the ritual was going to happen again next Fall. That gave me an epiphany about starting the posse rolling to head that future ritual off at the pass—the key being a significant regime change.

Tom o' the Grotto was, according to my Ariadne information, the choleric Salamander Court member most likely to become King, if that humor's contingent were to win the throne. From a distance, Mr. Grotto looked grey and rocky (not unlike Gavin in many ways) with mossy green hair and eyebrows. The large stranger wore a medieval style long vest and pants, also mossy and green. Bare-armed and shirtless, Tom still seemed to wear a pale blue tie or scarf.

Mr. of the Grotto had been arm wrestling a marble statue-like fae fellow when I approached. Tom drank from a large tankard in his other hand. I waited until Tom of the Grotto won, then introduced myself.

"Hi, you're a Tom too, right?" I pumped as much positivity into my voice as possible, held out my hand, then worried at the grip I would receive. "I go by Tommy."

"Of course ya do!" Tom O'Grotto boomed and smiled with chalk white and chalk dry teeth. "Have a drink!" Rather than shaking my hand, he jammed a tankard the size of his into it.

The tankard looked large in Tom o' the Grotto's fist, in mine it resembled a small barrel. The foamy liquid in the container smelled more of honey and flowers than beer or ale and seemed to be a pale green color. I made a show of drinking, while trying to only sip. The beverage had been unmistakably alcoholic, yet refreshingly tart. Tom had clearly been well into his cups, so I doubted he would notice my cautious imbibing.

"I was wondering," I dived right in, "how you felt about this whole Child's Rite business?"

The big man's craggy face grew somber briefly and his volume came down to a more normal conversational range, "Terrible shame, that. I hate to think about it." Even somber his voice had been bold and gravelly.

I felt a swell of hope, Tom was the first spirit-touched of any authority that I had encountered that seemed sympathetic. Plus, the boulder-esque man was another Barer of the Rust-Red Spear, which reinforced that I had chosen wisely. I asked, "Well, why put up with it then?"

"Ha!" Tom's laugh boomed and seemed to be genuinely amused. "It's what they want!" He nodded towards the Queen. I noticed his hair wasn't mossy, it was made up of little trees. Tom of the grotto wore a forest as a crown, as was his short beard and mustache. And he took the phrase 'bushy eyebrows' absolutely literally.

"Well, if they were challenged out of office that wouldn't matter." I had hopes that the gregarious fellow's drunkenness would make him more pliable.

"Ha, ha!" Tom smacked the stone table hard, even more amused. "A little wisp like you, think he can unseat the likes of them?"

It was my turn to laugh and I did so just as genuinely. "I don't even belong to this Court. I am sure you, on the other hand, are more than capable…"

"Me?!" Mr. Grotto jabbed me with his tankard. "I don't need no green-foot-leaves-in-hair to be telling me what I'm capable of." He seemed more serious, but not less jovial.

When I looked down to intercede my mug against Tom's repeated chest thumpings, I saw that his clothes were not just mossy. Tom of the Grotto's garments had clearly been miniature vibrant vines, lichens, and other leafy ground cover that had grown into the weave of his suit. What I had mistaken for a tie had, in fact, been a waterfall; it started from a small crevasse in Tom's throat, pooled slightly at his collar bone, then spilled over his chest, and vanished behind his verdant vest.

I tried to ignore the sweet smelling splashes on my shirt as well as the microcosm unfolding before me and to maintain my focus on the conversation. I also tried to change tactics slightly. "Hey, if it's too much for you. If you're too scare…"

"Listen you glowy little fart!" Mr. Grotto remained friendly, even though he had also grown irritated. It may have been his inebriation level, but the insults had a camaraderie to them, "I may look like mountain, but I ain't as dumb as a rock. Redhorn's at the height of his Season and been gathering power to perform an ancient ritual. He ain't being unseated by anyone anytime soon." His oversized wooden mug thunked off mine at several emphasis points and splashed us both.

Like with Ariadne, I knew that I had lost, yet threw out one last ditch desperation ploy. "Come on, I bet you can do it." I figured even if Tom failed, he might weaken King Redhorn enough to botch the ritual. "If ya just try, I'll give you a couple of tickets to the prize fight in Vegas next week."

Tom of the Grotto narrowed his eyes like brown and white marbles and thought for half a second and asked who was fighting and I told him. The Man-mountain smiled wide and clapped me on the back. I winced at the stinging sap and the thought of the bruising that would result, as I also stumbled and spilled a lot of drink. At least, I kept any more of the booze from getting on me.

"Well let's go!" Tom shook me a little, I lost even more mead. "I didn't want to hang around watching them poke at a kid anyway!"

"No, no." I tried to right the keel of my bargaining kayak on the rapids of Mr. Grotto's boisterous misinterpretations. "_If_ you challenge Redhorn, _then _I'll give you both tickets and you can take whomever you'd like. And you get the tickets whether you win or loose." I said, imagining that would sweeten the deal.

Tom of the Grotto's stony-eyes glittered. "Twinkle tongue, I'd rather just challenge you and take the tickets, _when_ I win." He scooped down and grabbed my ankle.

I had seen the grab coming, yet had not been fast enough to avoid it. My tankard went flying off. I half expected the force of nature holding me upside down to get mad that I had wasted the alcohol, he had not seemed to notice, though. Luckily, Gavin Granitbane had been watching my exchange and stepped over.

"Heya, Tommy, everything alright." Gavin asked me, clearly amused that I might get rattled around a bit. I think the ex-recue worker would have prevented any serious injury, while being equally sure that he would like me to pay for sticking him in the Dark section of Sheaves & Leaves rare books a couple of weeks earlier.

"It's great now." I said a bit too manically and looked to Mr. Grotto. "Tom of the Grotto, this is the guy," I gestured to Gavin, "that said he could beat you at arm wrestling without effort, Gavin Granitbane." I emphasized Gavin's surname. I was banking on the dramatic mood shifts I had already witnessed in Mr. O'Grotto.

"Is that so?" Tom's boulder hand released me as he spoke and turned to Gavin.

I rolled with the fall and kept rolling out of reach of both rocky men. Then I scuttled to a quiet and well-lit corner. I did not look back. I did regret the necessity of the roll, however, as it left me covered in an unfair amount of sticky spilt beverages and other floor grime.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

Iron Wade the Man of Steal found me in my little out of the way corner of the Barrow Mound cathedral, or more accurately, he found the same hiding place as me. Wade's gun metal grey eyes widened when he saw me, then relaxed when he recognized who I was.

I had snagged a pitcher of water and a handful of napkins, from one of the dozen of so sideboards around the naïve, then ducked into the first inconspicuous space that I found. The pitcher was made of lead crystal and looked like it belonged in a museum, while the napkins had been liberated from a Wendy's. Regardless, the equipment would serve to deal with the muck I had gathered from rolling on the floor. I had barely started dipping napkins in the water and wiping off my face, when my haggard companion arrived.

"Dodging anyone in particular?" I bobbed my head to indicate the mingling changelings just out of sight.

"Nah," Iron said a little too quickly, then put his scar covered hands in his jacket pockets and amended, "not dodging exactly. The Queen was kind of intense and then I tried to talk to the ballerina… uh, Little Misery."

"Little Miss Pity," I corrected automatically as I wiped floor residue from my arm.

"Yeah," the weathered fencer took his right hand out long enough to point a cross-hatched affirmation at me, "you're right, Little Miss Pity." He shivered slightly. "Anyway, I just needed a breather, to mentally regroup."

I nodded in commiseration. "I get what you're saying about Queen Glass, but what happened with Little Miss Pity? She looks so frail."

Wade leaned back against the wall for a little more comfort. "I thought she might be able to help us in the Court. So, eventually, she finally stopped dancing and the other watchers cleared out enough. Just as I introduced myself, Gavin pulled his stunt and everyone paid attention to the Queen. Afterwards, I grabbed a glass of wine for Miss Pity and tried again." His sunken eyes looked more haunted than usual. "So, I handed her the glass of wine. We talked a little. I was just about to start my pitch about the Child's Rite, when I noticed that her glass was frosting over… from her fingers outward." He looked at me as if expecting agreement that that was one of the creepiest things I had heard.

I, on the other hand, was only confused that Iron Wade had been unnerved. The tall dower faced man himself constantly smelled of wet leaves and could make his tracks turn to small bits of metal shavings. Whether Grace or glamour, at least Little Miss Pity's chilling touch was useful, if you did not want a warm beverage, and was not nearly as unsettling as extra orifices—like Dark Sol's hand-maws. In truth, next the palm mouths, I had been more disturbed by Wade being able to run his saber through redcaps with no apparent feeling, than I ever could be at the idea of a delicate ballerina with frosty fingers.

"So, Little Miss Pity, wears the Grace of Winter, like Rai does." I ventured in a dismissing tone, as I shrugged and glanced around the dividing wall for any incoming traffic. "Yeah, I'm not surprised. She looked pretty mopey and that seems to be a tell for that group."

"Winter?" Wade's brow furrowed. "So, she's not a member of this Court?"

Our new lives had rattled all of us a little differently. While I had been thrown myself into research at any opportunity and gleaned various details from the people talked to and books read. Iron Wade and the others had been focused on other things, like if he was 'still himself' and 'do laws apply to us anymore?' Thus, I had won the questionable position of most knowledgeable in our group as far as other Spirit Touched types, humors, and Court affiliations went.

I thought I grasped the weatherworn gnarling's disturbance a little better, it was not that Little Miss Pity's had been frosty, so much as he had such narrow expectations of the community. I pulled out and doubled checked my list of Salamander Court movers and shakers. I clarified, "Nope, she's a member here. The Court is only currently autumnal, so it is under Redhorn's and Glass Refractory's reign." I tucked away my list and resumed cleaning off. "Remember, that little orange hunter dude, Lor, told us Jackie Snow and Slyboots ruled here for Winter and they were replaced by the Autumn people just last year. From what I've gathered, every court has members affiliated with every season, or element, or humor, or whatever, and a court's season is only a reflection of who's in charge at the moment... So, Little Miss Pity is just on Jackie Snow's team."

Understanding settled on Wade's leathery face. The ruthless swordsman had still shivered a little whenever he caught sight of the impossibly thin, dancer girl, though. I wondered how long the college teacher 'come grease monkey's comprehension would last, as I knew this had been easily the second or third time that he had received the primer.

Tegan Bramblerose, Sean Tallwind, and Freerunner wandered over to mine and Iron Wade's little alcove. I learned later that the grumbly otter-man, 'Runner, had left Ariadne's Freehold long before I had and he had been cavorting outside with the fire builders and butterfly collectors when I had arrived. Raion-ju had sort of followed the other three over, although did not join the conversation, preferring to pace around nearby. After a minute or so, Gavin Granitbane also joined us.

By then I had done the best I could with the napkins and water. While I had no remaining stickiness or smudges on my skin, my polo shirt and khakis remained quite splotchy. I donned my thigh-length jacket in an effort to obscure the marred attire.

Gavin showed no signs of having been overly strained or battered from his encounter with Tom o' the Grotto—although, with his stony exterior, I was not sure how I would tell. I made certain that Tegan and Wade were between me and Mr. G, then smiled and asked the muscleman, "So, did ya kick his ass?"

"Hmph," Gavin's grunt conveyed mild self-reproach, rather than irritation at me, "Nah, that Tom guy's tough, he won fair and square." He flexed his thick right arm and rubbed the squared shoulder a little.

"So, what now?" asked Wade of the group.

"Keep up the grass roots push? Tell everyone who will listen about our position." I recapped for those that had not been (physically or mentally) at our last confab a short while ago.

"Um, I'm not sure." Tegan said sheepishly, her emerald eyes looked at the ground, arms crossed, and scuffing a booted foot. "All the people I've been talking to seem to feel like it was Red Rhea's plan and if we want to change the plan we should start with changing her mind."

Gavin nodded and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, I was getting the same."

"But what if she's clouding their minds with magic, won't she just try that with us?" Sean's cynical voice echoed my own biggest fear.

"I don't know," Our auburn haired bloomwell glance around at the rest of us, but mostly still watched the floor, "I don't think our magic... I mean changeling magic, works that way. My pheromones, or whatever, can effect an area, but not real strongly and it wears off pretty quick once I'm not around."

"Ur, yeah, rrmph," 'Runner rumbled to Sean, he stood hunched like he was ready to bolt, "seems like, rrruh something like that errm kinda magic rrerr would need a majorrrrritual."

Our self proclaimed private eye started to speak and Freerunner waved a furry hand to forestall the comment. I believed Sean had still been thinking like me and that if Red Rhea was such a great magical scholar, able to perform the Child's Rite, then she probably knew lots of potent rituals.

Our round faced whiskery companion had anticipated the protest correctly and said, "Mmrr spell like that urm would effect everyone errerr all at once rrmph would leave no rrrroom forrrr doubt. Grrph way too many urrf these people don't like rrher plan."

"Okay," Mr. Tallwind accepted the logic for the sake of it, "but she'd only really need to effect the King and maybe the Queen."

"Sure," I jumped in and tried to keep us from drifting to far off course, "but if that's what happened, then confronting her as a group would mean she could only target one or two of us. And if she needed time for a ritual, she would not have it."

The group consented after that, that we needed to confront Red Rhea.

However, Sean's vote was, "If we can't sway her, then we should probably just knock her out or break her jaw. Then she can't do the Child's Rite."

I found the gleam in the wrinkled man's beady eye as unsettling as the casual way Wade and the other slaughtered the redcaps. However, I liked attacking the zealot way more than snatching the child sacrifice. Most of my comrades merely nodded thoughtfully at Tallwind's idea. had apparently lost enthusiasm for any option, not even for the 'take Rhea out' idea—which I had thought would be right down the muscleman's alley. As Ms. Bramblerose and Mr. Granitbane were in essence the leaders for our campaign, the rest of us did not pursue the attack-the-incredibly-powerful-spirit-touched idea.

In fact, the wall-man and the bloomwell seemed to have started to cool to the idea of thwarting the Child's Rite, altogether. The pretty, almost doll-like, lady finally straightened up and looked at each of us more directly, "Yeah, I definitely want to speak with Red Rhea. But if we can't change her mind, then I think we should just drop the issue."

Gavin hung his big blocky orange head, but nodded his agreement.

On the one hand, I felt the decision was self-defeatist and borderline surrender, yet I did not say anything. I was infantry in that battle and it was not my place to try and countermand the generals, especially when I did not particularly care for the battle in the first place. Hence the other hand, that I had mostly just wanted to drop the issue from the start. I still felt nervous about the Red Rhea meet and greet, though.

The decaying Baron Samdi had been lingering out of earshot, although within sight of Tegan. The Baron's sad-grey-servant had wondered off somewhere else. Our bloomwell bombshell beckoned the dapperly dressed dead man over and asked for an introduction to Red Rhea. I was impressed at Tegan's use of social etiquette, as I tended to feel so self-conscious about such things.

The Baron wore a classic tailed tuxedo with top hat, sans tie, and had a rich and thick Caribbean accent. The skeletal man pronounced, "Aye, dat can be done, yeah. But now is not a good time, ya know. Da Red Rhea most likely don't wanna be disturbed and all dat." I could see how a voice that smooth and accented might get someone to overlook the corpse face that produced it, at least to some extent.

Tegan pouted her pillowy bright blood-red lip, twirled a lock of deep-red hair around a delicate finger, and said please. Baron Samdi led us to Rhea.

Outside the sun had set and the sky was a thick black blanket of low- hanging cloud cover. The smell of wood smoke and chill rain rolled back and forth between gusts of howling wind and hushed calms. The woods around the Barrow Mound had grown even more full of gloomy, thorny, and gnarled vines, branches, and brush—a foreboding manifestation of the ancient rite gathering forces.

I imagined that if it were an Air-Spring ritual, in mid-March, conducted by a sanguine court, then the forest would have been bursting with lush blooms, fresh life, and gentle showers. As it was, every image of Sleepy Hollow and haunted forests that I knew had crept to mind. I concentrated on increasing my moonlight glow as bright as possible, to light our way. Then I drew out another match to renew my Summer's Embrace for the chill wind had found its way up the back of my winter jacket.

I had thought the Child's Rite would be performed between the Barrow's entry and the now three stories high bonfire. Instead, Barron Samdi led our party into the thicker than usual Briar. I was surprised at how agilely Samdi moved, from his zombie-esque appearance I had expected stiff lurching motions, instead his gate had been as smooth as any of the rest of us. Some of the ground vines grabbed at our feet and Sean Tallwind stumbled once, however my faery light did cast enough illumination for my group to avoid any significant snares or footfalls.

As our gang walked, the Baron chatted with us-well, mainly Tegan. Even so, the mobile-corpse did put up with our whole troupe as if we were the movie-star gorgeous woman's entourage. Gavin tried to get Samdi to understand our feelings about the Child's Rite. Tegan let Gavin try, although I saw in her expression that indicated that she had already made the pitch to the Baron and been shot down.

Barron Samdi chuckled, "You all is fresh turned soil, ta be sure, and over emotional ta boot. Dese are da old ways." He spread his thin arms expansively and shook his bony-head slightly. Then went on with his out-of-place island accent, "Dey is rules set down before dey be time." He waggled a bony finger at Gavin. "You younguns comes along, all fresh and still connected to dis…" he waved his rotting hand dismissively, "dis technology. You tink you can do dis Google and you know some-ting. Fah!"

Samdi led the rest of us into a new smaller clearing. The area had been lit by a few small campfires. There was a roughly four foot square two foot high stone slab in the center of the space, below sliver of dark sky peeking through the branches. I could just make out that other spirit-touched were gathering around the clearing's edge, yet staying within the tree cover and mostly out of the firelight.

Red Rhea was walking about the parameter of the area; she wore a ground length cloak covered in monarch butterflies. I could not tell if the butterflies were animate or not, as the motion I saw may have been a trick of the flickering firelight. The scholar was almost six feet tall and had a tangle of red-brown hair with yellow and orange highlights, under the hood of her cloak, as well as a long sharp face that may have been carved from wood. Red Rhea's skin was light mahogany in color and she was built like a willowy runway model. The Italian Renaissance style dress that the regal lady wore was candy-apple red and adorned with embroidery and tiny jewels the colors of flames.

Ms. Rhea would approach a tree and affix a butterfly to it, via thumbtack as far as I could tell. The lady may then, possibly have made some mark with blood from her fingertip. Then Red Rhea would move sedately to another tree, though not in any obvious order. Occasionally, the tall, thin Rhea would lift a caterpillar from a fold in her garments and hold it to her face, to whisper to the bug.

A scrawny African-American boy of maybe nine or ten trailed after Red Rhea. The lad's hair was short and he looked well-scrubbed, although he wore a ragged t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The boy also carried a large tome. From time to time, the kid would make marks in the book with a pen as the red scholar gave some unheard instruction.

I boggled at the idea that the sacrifice was helping Rhea in this way. Either Red Rhea did have strong mind control abilities, or that boy was not the Child's Rite sacrifice. If the former, then that is what I expected before coming out and would have to deal as best I could. If the latter, then I could not imagine what that said about Rhea's character to employ a child in this manner… Of course, another option may be that she and the boy were related, which only made everything seem more complicated.

Red Rhea's harsh face became more stern and she strode over to us, then stared for a hard moment at Tegan. "What did you imagine you were doing?" She asked the much shorter redhead, curious and superior.

"I, uh," Our Bloomwell's green eyes flashed around nervously and the pick flush of embarrassment spread along her delicate neck and soft cheeks. Tegan rallied her conviction, straightened her back, and stared back into Rhea's rich auburn eyes, "I was trying to determine your true motivation for doing this ritual." She gestured to the clearing. Later Miss Bramblerose verified that she had tried to use a glamour on Red Rhea and that it was indeed meant to reveal the target's desire. The arcane scholar had been too self-assured for the glamour to function, though. Luckily, Red Rhea had not been too offended.

"You could have asked." Rhea's voice rasped like paper on paper, as she mildly reprimanded. "I am endeavoring to protect the children of this region, so they may have a chance to develop enough life of their own. And I am busy with preparation in this place. Perhaps you shall find vantage outside of the clearing."

I was surprised that Red Rhea's tone was fairly gentle. She was authoritative, yet not indignant or aloof.

"Yes, we understand what you're about. That is why we need to speak with you." The ROTC experienced girl's voice was polite, but she clenched her fists behind her back in frustration.

Red Rhea sagged almost imperceptibly and looked a little tired, "What have you to say?"

"Is there no other way?" Tegan asked. "Surely, there must be some way other than harming the child, in which to achieve the same effect?"

I hoped Tegan was trying to use her Bloomwell aroma or some wyrd as a Fairest to sway Red Rhea. Otherwise, I cringed at Ms. Bramblerose's choice to allow Red Rhea to provide answers. I would have preferred we present our findings and make Ms. Rhea have to defend her methods. However, I was not in charge and had already made my best efforts towards powerful people in this matter. I chose to let those who cared more weather the searing gazes, for a change.

"It is an ancient pact." Red Rhea fixed Tegan in her steady gaze. "All compacts have there price and the child's fear and pain is the cost of this one."

"Why the focus on children?" Iron Wade's own raspy voice cut in, having detected something in Rhea's responses that provoked him. "What about others?"

I thought I saw Rhea's features tighten just a little, as if she were Stealing herself to what she was advocating. I wondered if it was I, or Wade, that had misread the woman.

"I offer the protection that I can. When the Bright Ones take children, the young can not find their way back to this world. With this ritual, the children will be given the opportunity to create connections here that may lead them back—or possibly keep them from ever being lost." Rhea's gentle rasping voiced had taken on a helpful lecturer's tone.

I flashed to my own mortal life and how few friends I had from then. Also, how rarely that I had called or visited my parents or brother.

"But," Tegan tried again, her hands now forward and open and emerald eyes wide in a pleading gesture, "why must you sacrifice a child?"

Our swordsman tried to help, "Is there no other method of payment for the ritual? I know glamours have tricks to make them work, but they can still be powered by wyrd instead."

Red Rhea sighed, "Your weak modern glamours could never ward off a the Folk for exactly that reason. Such magic is inherently too flexible to offer any shielding from the Bright Ones. The ancient Rites are specific and tragic and have unforgiving requirements that provide unassailable results."

I had been fascinated by the summery. I had seen many spells, rituals, and glamours described in the previous few days of research in Ariadne's rare books. However, that was like the difference between reading the instructions about how to build a car and actually having an experienced engineer show you. I thought the magical world that I was in had many wonders, along with its horrors, and found myself toying with the idea of trying to speak to Red Rhea about such matters at some later date.

"Can we not do something that requires more effort on our part and more often, while not exacting any blood?" asked Tegan.

Rhea's sculptural eyebrows raised and knotted in confusion.

I had been about to blurt out my own version of the question, when my emerald-eyed ally spotted my expression and beet me to it. "What of the Rites of Hospitality?" Tegan spoke less peevishly than I would have. "If the Court members all worked together, we could canvas Athens in a day or so."

Red Rhea considered for a moment. "Athens is but one small city in the whole region." She swirled her wood-brown finger in a tight circle, then made a larger one with both hands. "The Child's Rite will protect all the children of the Midwest Territories, not just this one town."

"At the cost of one child's life per year." Tegan sounded a little pleading and a little disgusted.

I leaned over and whispered to Wade.

Red Rhea's expression became sympathetic, "The child will not die."

"Alright," Tegan flapped her hands a little exasperated, "mangled then."

"And besides," Wade cut in again, this time with the concern I had just whispered to him, "why protect against all the Bright Ones? It's one in particular, the Lord of Death, and he has only been targeting Athens."

One of my allies had discovered that Lord of Death was a more colorful moniker that Dr. Aanwynn used, when not masquerading as a Kendal research physician. Dr. A was the one that had dragged us all off to, and sold us in, the Lands Beyond the Hedge. I had chosen to prompt my haggard fellow with the information rather than present the claim myself, because I was not at all certain it was accurate. Plus, if speaking the Gentry's name aloud had repercussions, then at least, it would not have been my voice that carried it.

The Lady Scholar blinked. "How can you know that?" she rasped inquisitively to Wade.

Tegan answered. "We were at the last Kendal study he ran, seven years ago. When that went bust, that is when the kids started missing more and more, all from in and around Athens. We did the research."

I leaned over to Baron Samdi and stage whispered, "We Googled it." The Baron made no sound of reply, so I have no idea if he had any reaction.

Red Rhea nodded. "Be that as it may- and assuming you are correct- protecting the city alone will most likely just drive him one town over. The Child's Rite will use a single child's lasting fear to protect all the children of the whole territory."

"The child must be hurt in the process, however they shall not be killed or mangled." Rhea looked slightly manic, but her voice did not change tone. "I have done this many time before. The child will have a few lasting scars, but no crippling damage."

I noticed Red Rhea's young companion twitch slightly. When I looked at the boy of maybe ten years old, more closely, I saw he had scars on the backs of each hand. The marks were old, but looked as if they had been deep. I nudged the person closest to me (the far more worse scarred, Sean Tallwind) and pointed the marking out.

Sean decided to try talking to the boy. He stepped forward and knelt down to be more at eyelevel with the lad. "Hi there," mister bag of skin and scars said, clearly trying to sound friendly around his normally throaty-gruffness, "My names Sean, what's yours?"

The lad tried to step more into the folds of Red Rhea's dress. Rhea answered, "This is my assistant, Henry."

The would-be investigator realized he was scaring Henry and stood to address Rhea bitterly. "Do you use the same child each time?"

The regal lady met Sean's stare. "The child must be from the territory that is to be protected."

Tegan's pristine brow had been lightly creased as she had been thinking hard. Fair Bramblerose addressed Red Rhea once more, "if protecting the City would only push the Folk one town over, won't warding the territory just push Them to the next territory?"

The question hit Red Rhea hard; she even took a half step back. The Lady looked even more tired and a little afraid. Swallowing hard and the regal scholar regained her composure. "I must do what I can, for as long as I am able."

The attitude of my companions seemed to have shifted, each at a different point in the dialogue. Rhea's stricken reaction is what had finally swayed me. I finally saw that the woman was not superior and aloof, rather she was doing all she could to hold herself together. Generally we all were looking sheepish and apologetic.

Tegan put forward one last hopeful question. "Can the child be healed afterwards?"

"Are _you_ offering to take responsibility for the child after the ceremony?" Asked Rhea her dark eyes wide in surprise.

"Well, I have a glamour that can mend some physical wounds." The more curvaceous redhead replied

"The child's ongoing pain and fear fuel the ongoing protection of the Child's Rite. Using magic to remove the pain would likely remove that portion of the protection. However, mortal care should not affect the ward." Rhea's papery words had that lecturer's tone again.

"What is going to happen to the child afterwards?" asked Wade.

"That is a matter for this court. I will be leaving," rasped Rhea. "Now, if there is nothing more, I really must complete my preparations." She looked at is all as if daring us to waste more of her time.

I hoped that when Ms. Rhea said that she would be leaving afterwards, that she meant within a few days. I felt a little regret that I night not have the opportunity to converse with the scholar under more leisurely conditions.

My company and I retreated into the woods a ways and held another quick conference. Tegan, Wade, and Gavin all agreed that they felt there was nothing more to be done. None of us liked the idea of the Child's Rite, but if the so-called sacrifice was truly not to be slain or maimed, then we were less nauseated at having to concede. Even so, all, save Sean Tallwind and I, intended to watch the ritual closely and swoop in if they saw signs of having been misled.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

The ancient and unfortunate-looking Sean Tallwind insisted on staying in the Salamander Mound and drinking free beer (or whatever the green foamy beverage du jour had been), rather than watch the torture of a child. It had possibly been the only time I truly respected the wrinkly gnarling's reasoning. I also remained in the cathedral-like court, for the same reason, at least at the start.

I had hoped to be hanging with Tom o' the Grotto, rather than Mr. Tallwind, or any of the few unfamiliar court members that had also remained inside. I found Mr. O'Grotto's boisterous attitude and directness infectious and had felt his company would distract me from what Red Rhea would be doing in her ritual circle. Unfortunately for me, that other much more mountainous Tom had to attend the Child's Rite as the highest ranking Summer affiliated Hawk Wood Court member.

The rest of my allies had taken their high strung tensions over wanting to stop the Child's Rite and restrung them to expectations of foul play from some other quarter. So, the rest of my gang had now insisted on watching the ritual as vigilantly as possible. Personally, I assumed… well, tried to convince myself, that the Court's most powerful members would be readily at hand to deal with, or at the very least someone else in the multitude would surely raise an alarm.

Thus, I had been left with trying to make nice with the few fae too mopey, sulky, timid, or obstinate to mingle with their own allies at a major gathering, sit with the surly Sean Tallwind, or try and brood on my own. Only I did not want to brood or pout. After just a few minutes I realized that I was too anxious to sit alone and wonder, with increasing frustration, about what really was happening in that strange clearing the red witch had prepared. Spending time with Sean turned out to be not much better than sitting alone, my attempts to engage him had been only met with brief snide sarcasm, or inattentive grunts. The couple of lone courtiers that I could even get to acknowledge me made it clear that all the members of my group were at best mistrusted from our actions earlier that day. So, even if I could get a civil conversation going, it's content was not nearly engaging enough to distract me from my growing antsiness.

Inevitably, I gave up my moral high ground, renewed my Summer's Embrace, and gave in to my own high strung tension—heading out of the mound and towards those gathering in the overgrown forest. The bulk of the Court of the Midwest Territories had gathered in clusters amongst the crowding brambles and vines that encircled the clearing. The small campfires around the ritual stone barely cast any illumination beyond the very edge of the cleared space. I felt no breeze, nor did the campfires flicker over much, yet the rustle of leaves and breaking of bows overwhelmed any small or whispered noises. The wood-smoke odor gave the air an acidic taste. The smoke itself churned and mixed with fog in the trees, casting a grey filter over everything and adding to the shadows to obscure anyone not actually within the clearing. Thanks to the comfort of my renewed glamour, I could only guess that the dry air was cold. If the other people's breath made mist, it only mingled unseen with the semi-acrid haze.

I brightened my own faery glow as much as I could, yet still had to watch my footing carefully as I wedged and squirmed my way as far forward as possible. I thought I had spotted Tom o' the Grotto and had decided that if I was going to watch this travesty, then at least I would be close to the one Spirit Touched that I had met that seemed to have his priorities straight. My cautious travel and the environment itself meant that I was unable to see what was transpiring in the ritual area. Also, I was only able to half pay attention to the reactions and attitudes of the spirit-touched around me. The assembled fae were certainly tense and expectant, however with enthusiasm or trepidation or for some other reason, I just could not tell.

I edged forward. The only talking was Red Rhea intoning the Child's Rite in some old language, which I would not have been able to hear clearly even if it were in English. Meanwhile, the wind in the tree tops rushed and howled and the air around the ritual circle had become even more still and tomb like. I was very grateful that the child Rhea used in the ritual had not been screaming or crying. Then, just as I reached the Summer Regents side, the crowd gasped in unison. Rhea began shouting and I saw a look of shocked disbelief on Tom's craggy face.

I was now in a position to see into the clearing and assess the situation. Rhea had been standing next to the stone block. Henry, Rhea's young assistant, at her side, his large tome cradled in his left arm while he clung to his Mistress's dress with his right hand. Henry had been silent, however his hazel-eyes were wide with uncertainty and terror. The arcane-scholar woman was calling out, "Someone, anyone, go after the boy! Quick before he goes too far!"

A large dark man moved smoothly into the clearing before the assembly and near Red Rhea. It took me a couple of moments to recognize the cat-like fellow as Raion-ju, of all people. Pacing in a tight line, Rai was actually next to the ritual area and roared out in his deep basso, "Someone invisible took the boy! It was one person that reeked of rot and sickness!" he shook his head as if to clear his nostrils.

Jackie Snow, in a pale blue gown, her/his white hair and skin a beacon in the firelight, had moved to the edge of the clearing across from where I stood. The androgynous regent had started to echo Red Rhea's demands for someone to go after the boy. S/he had a frantic expression that I assumed was exacerbated from having recently lost her/his nephew.

I took in a little more of the scene. A free standing red, wooden door and frame had been added to the clearing near the stone block. The door looked like it could belong to almost any room in almost any home and it stood open in its frame. Through the freestanding portal was the Briar, yet clearly not the same part of the Briar in which the ritual had been taking place.

There had also been a plain pine child's coffin on the edge of the makeshift stone table. There were fresh glistening-blood stains in the coffin and on the ground near it. I realized that a circle had been made in the dirt around the stone, perhaps by Red Rhea's walking staff. The red lady moved to the edge of that circle, although made certain not to cross it. Henry had been equally cautious.

With Rai already front and center, Tegan Bramblerose, Iron Wade the man of Steal, and Gavin Granitbane swiftly made their way through the now milling changelings to join our vaguely feline ally at the doorway portal.

The din of the leaves and creaking-cracking limbs had been added to by the chaotic spirit-touched murmurings. I had been making my own way, to join my comrades, and caught the last part of a question that Iron Wade had put to Red Rhea. "… used the door in the first place?!"

Ms. Rhea called back in a slightly less panicked tone and some bitterness, "Since many opposed the ritual—as well you know—I kept Joey there," she pointed to the magic doorway, "to make certain he would remain safe until he was needed!" Her other hand clasp a large staff, so hard that her bark-brown fingers were ashy pale.

The red scholar went on to explain "Now we are trapped! Once the Child's Rite has been started, Henry and I may not leave the circle," she swept her hand in an arc, indicating the ground before her, "until the ritual is complete, or the sun rises!" Her normally subtle expressions were contorted with fear, "Leaving the circle or time runs out, either way that causes the ritual to fail!"

Tegan was in her crisis mode, at attention, remain calm, assess the situation, and act decisively to assess. The confident redhead took a step closer to Rhea and asked, "What happens if the ritual fails?"

The scholar Lady's face went from contorted fear to bloodless terror. The normally regally composed woman mumbled something about "backlash."

In addition to that grim factor, Red Rhea's earlier dig, about knowing that people wanted to thwart the ritual, had not been lost on us. I could see that my allies, like me, believed that the lady referred to us—In addition to other parties. However, I could not be sure that my comrades realized, as I had, the implied threat.

Our cabal had been publically vocal about wanting to stop the Child's Rite and now it was stopped. Plus, we were new to the area and had sworn no loyalties to this Court or the nearby Freehold. If bad things happened because of the ritual being interrupted, my group where just the right size for the frame—as Sean Tallwind would probably say.

Iron Wade may have been thinking the same, as he shouted indignantly to the unsettled assemblage. "Fine! We _courtless latecomers,_" he emphasized the words sarcastically as he looked towards Queen Glass, "will go and clean up your mess for you, buncha worthless cowards!"

I had been impressed with Wade's rage and wondered if he could be convinced to lay aside his melancholic humor and pick up the Rusted Spear of Summer-Fire instead. I also agreed with his assessment of the audience's courage, some people had moved forward for a closer look, however more had moved away, and none of the courtiers had made steps to assist Red Rhea or seek the abducted child.

I thought about how the zealous scholar was also an outsider to this Court and how the arcane Rite's backlash may only effect her…and young Henry. If that was what the Hawk Wood Court had been expecting, then they were far worse people than I had been thinking up 'til then.

Our heavy hitters, Rai and Gavin, stepped through the rectangular portal as our swordsman spoke. Freerunner and Sean also came into the clearing and headed for the door.

Red Rhea regained some composure and called out to us, "The portal will only remain connected to that location for less than an hour now! Then the door opens elsewhere in the Hedge! It will be a full day before it returns to that place!" She pointed through the magic doorframe. "If you cannot find Joey before the portal next moves, you must return by some other route, before dawn!"

"We shall return the boy in plenty of time!" I tried to assure loudly enough for all gathered to hear. I hoped to stave off any creeping doubts anyone might be harboring. For a little extra bravado, I also said, "You assembled should spend your time thinking up suitable rewards for when we do succeed- especially since we are performing this service under no obligation to Hawk Wood!"

Much later, it occurred to me that the Court might have taken my words to have been part of an elaborate extortion. First we make nuisances of ourselves, then snatch the kid, then are the first to act, but only for a reward. It could be a decent con, but then we would have secured a specific payment before walking through the magic door.

Mr. Granitbane had glamoured his skin to harder grey-stone and passed through the portal just behind Rai, minutes earlier. Wade passed through next, saying, "Thanks for nothing, bitch." to Rhea, though I doubt she could hear him. Tegan followed close behind Wade. I was next, less confident that Wade was Fire-Summer Grace material and more worried that the whole Child's Rite situation had pushed his buttons too hard. Freerunner and Sean Tallwind came rushing to the portal with a half dozen ferrets running alongside (clearly friends of 'Runner's). And just before I passed through the door, I saw Dark Sol separate herself from the deep shadows and she slipped through the magical doorway at the last moment.

On the other side was cold darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

I had instinctively reduced my personal luminance to make myself less of a target. Then Sol slinked through the portal and the red door closed behind her, plunging us all into a chilly blackness. I do not know if the door closed itself or if someone back at the Salamander Court had pushed it shut; it did not really matter either way, really. The light from the campfires in the clearing some unknown distance away had barely illuminated the deepest darkness of the Hedge to which my party had stepped. The shaft of firelight had been defused, seeming to trickle rather than pour through the incongruous rectangle frame.

In that purer dark, my dimming of my lumor light precaution had been moot. At my least bright I still produced an aura almost equal to a single candle's flame. With no other luminance to compete with, even my faintest glow shone clear as any target.

However, it was just past midnight and that was a trick for one of the fae magics that I knew. Since I had awoke from the dream-remembering that had revealed the secrets of certain glamours to me, I had thought that I would have no use for what I thought of as my High Noon glamour. I especially never imagined that I would have a need to cast High Noon within the narrow time frame in which I could enact it free of needing to exhaust wyrd. As it was though, wyrd-free trick has been timing—within a few minutes of the midway point between sunset and sunrise.

I felt a surge of confidence as the timing seemed to be a return of my personal luck. I could sense that I had very little wyrd to draw on, after my day of trying my Fairest Tongue and Fortune's Favor on various spirit-touched bigwigs. I certainly would not have spent the little magical energy that I had, simply to light the area with my sunshine glamour without the trick.

"Okay," I spoke into the darkness, believing my allies were still nearby, "fair warning, I'm turning on the lights."

I cast my glamour into the area around our group, roughly the size of a football field shone with a bright golden light. I stood in the center of the bit of borrowed noonday radiance. My fellow's' expressions were suitably impressed for a change. They had seen my innate Lumor moon-like aura and had clearly thought I meant to boost that as I had in our fight with the redcaps. Instead, this magic small part of what I had gained for choosing to take up the Wrist-Red Spear of Summer blazed forth sharp and bright.

Nearest to me had been Dark Sol in her tight black jeans and her black sweat jacket zipped up with the hood over her platinum blond hair. My eyes darted first to the darkling lady's fingerleech hands. Although fingerleech was a slight misnomer, it had been the best identifier that I had come across in my readings regarding the life essence sucking mouths in Sol's palms.

As with most darklings, the pale woman next to me suffered from a mild sun sickness. So, I had been watching for any immediate adverse reactions to my glamour. I worried that Sol might instinctively lash out at me for creating the bright light, or the nearest person (also me) just from shock. The currently curvy blond only flinched a little at my impromptu illumination. Apparently, the faery sunlight that High Noon provided was some how unreal enough that Sol was not adversely effected.

It had been a stunning effect to see the pale woman in her sultry, healthy aspect and in full color natural lighting. Since we had returned from Bright One captivity the only times I had seen Sol by daylight, she had looked wan, saggy, and ill. At night I knew the ex-Grad Assistant gained a revitalized luster. At night and in sunshine, Dark Sol's flawless ivory skin fairly shone with reflected light, the bit of her hair that I could see had been like glossy cream, her eerie all black eyes became beckoning dark pools, and her lithe body moved with sensual agility. Most importantly, Sol's hands remained free of open orifices.

I took in the pale woman's state in a moment or two, then scanned my surroundings more thoroughly.

The foliage here was more like what I had come to expect from the deep Briar, than what the Child's Rite had made of the vegetation near the Salamander Court. The canopy of large old growth trees still interlocked over head blocking out any access to the sky. However, that natural ceiling was proven to be dozens of feet high, instead of seeming to loom within reach as it had in the inky darkness. Smaller trees and bushes strived to eke out a living between the wide space old growth. Ferns and ivies blanketed most every part of the forest floor. My glamour-light gave the brilliant fall colors above us the impression that our roof was frozen fire, and made the mostly knee-high greenery seem lush. Of course, even with the magic light we still only saw about forty or fifty feet in any direction because of all the plants and my light did cause stark and foreboding shadows.

At least the dense vegetation also reduced any wind to barely a breeze and kept out a little of the chilly November night. Realizing that I was in fact feeling the nocturnal cold, I struck a camping match and spit on the flame, again casting Summer's Embrace about me. I then pinched the end of the spent match and placed it in a second match box that I keep for the purpose. I am not keen to litter normally and in the woods…. Only you can prevent forest fires, and all that.

The only sounds other than me and my eight cohorts, seemed distant and typical for a forest at night. So, the creaky skittery noises were only comforting in that they were not nearer.

Our posse gathered together for a head count and rough draft of a plan. Tegan Bramblerose and Raion-ju had a path-finding glamour that could help them locate things within the Twisting Briar, yet that was not infallible. Sean Tallwind supposedly had detective skills, but had yet to display any as far as I was concerned. Freerunner had used a glamour to summon a small group of ferrets with which he could communicate. So, that portion of our party would start with scanning the area for clues or a trail.

Gavin Granitbane had rescue training, albeit more suited to retrieving people from burning buildings, than hunting them in a forest. Iron Wade the Man of Steal had carried his saber in a blueprint tube, slung over his shoulder the whole time, and had proven stealthy in the past. So, those two were primarily on guard duty, more ready to defend our group, rather than looking for the kidnapped sacrifice. I had been a little disappointed with myself for not noticing Wade's blueprint tube/sheath earlier, it made me realize how little attention I was tending to give my housemates—I spent some time considering whether that mattered.

Dark Sol and I were the only ones left. We were both eager to find the boy, Red Rhea had called him Joey, however the best help either of could offer to start with was to stay out of the way. Oh, and I was also providing the illumination, of course.

Our sleuths went to work scanning for clues of the kidnapper's passage. I had hoped we had acted fast enough that the thief would not have gotten far. Unfortunately our quarry must have been familiar with this portion of the Inbetween.

Sean Tallwind looked even more ancient than his durance had made him as he stooped and limp-shuffled slowly to seek footprints and the like. It was slow going and to pass the time, burn-scarred man asked, "So, what exactly happened back there? I had been in the Mound the whole time and 'Runner just burst in and said the kid vanished and you all were going after him."

"Yeah, me too." I wanted to participate in some way. "I mean I got there before Sean, but still too late to see what happened. I got in position just as Rai made his pronouncement."

"It was pretty grim and creepy, but not nearly as gruesome as I had expected," Tegan conceded as she bent at her narrow waist and gently lifted some brush to get a better look at the ground.

It was very hard for me to look away to the next speaker. Had I been within the bloomwell's flowery scent, I would probably have stood transfixed and drooling.

"Yeah, that is true." Agreed the weathered Wade, he stood at the edge of my light watching into the dark wood, his sword in hand. "Anyway, there was a little blond boy in that box…"

"Argh." Sol said with an exasperated sigh and toss of her porcelain hands. "You're skipping the whole beginning."

The swordsman shrugged one shoulder, like he did not think the information was important. The at one time fencing instructor let the at one time literature major tell the story, though.

"Okay," Sol went on when she was sure she had the floor—as it were, "Everyone had gathered around the small clearing. Red Rhea had already made her circle in the dirt around the stone altar." The naturally talkative girl was warming to her subject, emphasizing all the key details.

"Lady Rhea, clapped and nodded to the west. From that side of the clearing two big guys, like the size of Rai and Gavin, came out of the crowd, carrying a red door in it's frame." Sol was good enough at reading her audience that she could tell most of them did not particularly want a lot of detail, so she kept the recap simple. "They set the door upright near the circle and waited for Red Rhea to come over, touch the door, and say some arcane words. The lady then waited in her circle, while the two lackeys went through the door and came back with a small coffin."

The goth woman could not hide that the coffin excited her a little, her breathing came a bit fast and her pale eyelids hovered half closed. "They carried the coffin to the altar and returned to the crowd."

"They left the door open?" Sean's gruff voice rasped into the narrative.

"Yeah, I thought that was weird at the time too." Wade agreed.

Gavin had been at a different spot on the illuminations parameter, watching for threats, he shrugged his large block shoulders, "I just thought that this was where Red Rhea was going to exit to after the, uh, ritual."

I suspected that Mr. Granitbane had almost said 'show' instead of 'ritual' and wondered what that said about how he really thought about making a child bleed.

"For whatever reason, "Sol placed her hands on her hips, accentuating her slinky waist, and stared at the interjectors, "yes, the portal was left open." Her voice returned to it's more pleasant story teller tones. "Once alone in the circle with her assistant and the coffin, Red Rhea began chanting. She moved about the circle, the little black boy following her with that big book open. I did not see Red Rhea check the book, but maybe she did."

Our narrator took a deep breath through her nose and let her inky eyes close all the way, as if in anticipation of the next part of the tale. "Red Rhea pulled a claw hammer from her robes to pry open the coffin, which had been nailed shut. Inside there was a young, blond boy. The boy had seemed hypnotized, or maybe like he was sleep walking." Her breathing quickened a little.

"Red Rhea continued to intone, while she drew forth long thorns from her robes. The thorns where at least two or three inches long and the Lady pushed them through the boy. One each through each hand and foot. The child was horrified and in pain, but he did not cry out. Then Red Rhea lifted the dazed boy out of his coffin and placed him standing on the ground, where he stood painfully shuffling from foot to foot." Sol had been grinning widely, but stopped and pouted. "Then the boy bent over and seemed to float backwards through the door. And that's when all the panic started."

"That's it? He just flew away? backwards?" Sean moved his right hand slowly from left to right with the too-long too-thin fingers pinched together and pointing left. He clearly felt that there was more to be said.

"Well, that must be about when Rai said he smelled something," I suggested as I watched the large dark skinned man prowl softly in the foliage. To my surprise Rai had both been listening and took my hint to join the conversation.

"Um, yeah," Raion-ju did not look at any of us as he spoke, "when the coffin was opened I got a strong whiff of a person, only it was like a mostly rotted person, but not dead yet…like gangrene and piss or something." The one time engineer continued his searching, crouched low to the ground and inhaling deeply, as much as looking with his slit eyes. "Anyway, I could tell where the smell was coming from and that there was person mixed in, but I could not see anyone. And it was right near me. Then when Red Rhea pulled the kid out of the coffin, I felt and smelled that someone brush past, moving fast, for the ritual circle." Rai did shrug at that point. "I tried to catch them, but they had a head start and must have been smaller than me to get through the crowd so easy."

At that point I took over the narrative for Sean's benefit and covered the things that had been said and the general inaction of the Court.

While the tale was being spun and with no small thanks to my provision of bright illumination, Rai and Sean located signs of passage. Rai noticed a blood spot, he said the forest aromas had been to strong to track purely by smell, but he could confirm the blood was Joey's. Sean had located a fresh sneaker print.

I was impressed with Mr. Tallwind, I had largely convinced myself that the gnarling's detective claims where make-believe. At least Sean's skill at tracking proved that he had some use—even if that actually came from hunting or boy scout training decades earlier, rather that investigation skills, of course.

Then Rai and Tegan also identified an old Ways that the kidnapper seemed likely to have employed.

"Whadda ya mean 'old'?" the red-orange rock man asked supple auburn haired beauty as we gathered near the place where all three clues came together.

Tegan shrugged, "Like any road really. I mean look," she pointed to a clump of rounded stones, "this one was probably even paved in cobblestone at one point. Roads don't get maintained and nature takes over. The Briar just seems to be more aggressive about breaking down Ways."

"So, can we tell how old the Ways is?" Sean asked.

"Does it rrrm matter?" Freerunner grumbled at Sean.

"Whether it matters or not," our at one time officer-in-training butted in to avoid a tangent or an argument, "we can't tell the age of the Ways. Best we can do is to say that it looks like only one person has used this part of it any time recently and that was less than an hour ago."

"Which means two things, right?" I looked from the now closed red door that we had come through to where Tegan indicated the Ways. "One, our thief was familiar enough with this place to be able to get away swiftly and reliably; and two, Red Rhea was either foolish for having used this location to store the child, or she had known of the Ways and is part of the problem."

Many of my comrades were not certain of my logic, but we did not what to spend the night arguing. We were all eager to head after the trail we had discovered, however Tegan had spotted one more thing. Our pretty Bloomwell pointed out a stabapple tree—at least that is what she called it.

The Stabapple tree had been just to the north of my sunlight. Of course when I moved towards where the fair Bramblerose had indicated, the center of the illumination came with me. The tree was big, like an old oak with a trunk that diverged and twisted about twenty feet up. The braches were covered in long slightly curved thorns, that varied from roughly six inch needles at the branch tips to nearly two foot shafts near the trunks. Where the main trunk forked it became five narrower trunks before branching as other trees. The thick and twisted portions of trunk gave the impression of a colossal hand reaching out of the earth—a hand covered in piercing spines. There was also an abundance of golden-orange apples growing on the tree. Picking them would only require braving the thorns.

As much as the eight of us all wanted to get on with our quest, most of us also wanted a weapon and/or some exotic fruit. Tegan had heard of trees that could whomp down on anyone too close to them and we all knew of the apple trees from the Oz movie. We also suspected the stabapple might be able to propel its thorns.

So, Tegan threw a couple of rocks at the tree, It did not move or retaliate. Assuming that had been good enough, the curvy redhead bounded over to the stabapple tree. When the tree still did not react, the rest of us followed.

Tegan and I were the only to brave and agile enough to climb the stabapple. 'Runner has said since then that the lady and I were "too fairest foolish" to know better, however he often groused about sour vine fruit. After the two of us scurried up the tree, the other six were content to call up for things. Iron Wade, at least, had the decency to offer me some fencing lessons if I got him a large thorn and an apple. I felt the _thwang-thrum_ of our deal settle into me as I carefully crawled to an apple.

Once in the tree, it was easy enough to avoid being pierced by the thorns; they just made for slow going. Then the apples were fairly easy to pick. It helped me greatly that I had the heavy leather gloves that I mainly use to avoid touching the cold iron chain that I also carry around. The thorns were pointy, but had no sharpness to their edges. I had no luck with dislodging the thorns, but Tegan quickly discover the knack of it. In a few minutes, everyone who wanted a thorn or apple had one. I had one of the former through a belt loop and three of the latter stuck in my large jacket pockets.

I had considered just sticking my new objects into my pack, on Gavin's back, however I preferred to be able to feel them for a while. Plus, I worried that if I had drawn attention to the muscleman's burden, then he would hand my gear back, for me to lug around.

Iron Wade's professional opinion of the thorns as stabbing weapons had been quite high. The thorns Tegan had been able to pluck were over a foot to a foot and a half long. Wade said he was sure they were almost as strong as Steal and that they were definitely well balanced for use in fighting. Although, they were maybe not good for throwing, due to their curved natures. He was not sure if they could be honed or whittled to have a reliable edge, but he explained that was rarely needed for fencing styles anyway. He admitted the thorns were to short for proper fencing, but claimed most techniques would translate. I looked forward to having time to learn proper sword fighting and planned to get a real blade once I knew the basics.

Wade had also eaten his apple right away. He claimed it tasted of caraway and roasted onions. I found myself wondering what, if anything, that might mean about the local soil. Which in turn made me wonder a little about whether I might have more nigglers, or if this part of the Hedge made it harder to stay focused. The nigglers were most likely, they were normally invisible angelfish-like creatures that flew around and ate people's stray thoughts. I felt like I had been inclined to be erratic and distractible since we had awoke in the Kendal building, but in that part of the Hedge I sensed that we were all struggling to keep our purpose in mind.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

As our octet left the area of the red wooden door, my wonderful summer sunshine faded away. I had been sorely tempted to use the wyrd necessary and recast the glamour, however I had to make sure that I kept enough power to glamour myself stronger or luckier in case of an emergency. Thus, our party had been left with my equally wonderful moonlight glow. Although, even I had to admit, that my normal illumination was barely thirty feet across and lacked the color revealing properties of full spectrum light. Hence, the Briar seemed to close in and became a place of deepest shadows and unsettling shapes in dark monochrome.

When I then realized that the chill I felt had not been purely caused by the aesthetics of the mysterious Wilder Wood, I struck another match and renewed my glamour of personal comfort. I could have cast the comfort to the area around me as well, however that too would have wasted precious wyrd. So, my troupe would simply have to cope with the cold in their Wal-Mart winter wear.

The dilapidated Ways did indeed seem to have once been a cobblestone path, as Tegan Bramblerose had mentioned earlier. Patches of still mortared together paving stones came and went beneath our careful steps. In a few places the cobbles were intact for several yards, with only a few potholes. Most of the time the opposite had been true—small islands of worked stone in an otherwise overgrown lane.

It seemed like twenty or thirty minutes had passed—though, I admit, I had not been good with time since my captivity and the Briar magnified that flaw—when a gentle clattering could be heard, over the rustle of leaves and distant night-birds. We continued forward along the Ways as Tegan and Raion-ju indicated, and the noise grew closer. The clattering and clanking were occasionally mingled with an odd squeak, the effect had been familiar and unnerving, like something from a childhood nightmare. All of us grew more wary and readied what weapons we had.

In short order, a china tea service rattled into view. It looked like a complete set of fine china with flatware, normal size, and moving along at a good clip on little animated porcelain feet. I pointed and laughed at the dishes, as the tension broke through our party. It had been like a part of a Disney movie had become live action and made a run for the woods. We stepped to the sides of the Ways and let the tea service pass, back the way we had come, gently rattling all the way..

I started trying to recall Lewis Carroll's work and planning to talk to Dr. Peter Dionysus, when I returned to Sheave & Leaves. I had been curious what the crypto-zoologist would think of, or have to say about, the living tableware. I regretted later, not having had the presence of mind to stoop down and try a sip of the tea.

Even though the tension had been released, my gang remained on guard. Iron Wade the Man of Steal suggested, "Hey, maybe we should make some torches?"

That brought me out of my Carroll musings. I made a noise that conveyed my indignation.

"No," the haggard fencer looked even more stricken, like he had no idea I might take his raspy comment personally, "Tommy, it's not about you. Your light is great, but you should stay in the center of the party to give maximum coverage. I thought it would be good to have an extra light source in front and rear to see things coming easier."

"And having fire handy is usually useful." Sean Tallwind asserted, sticking up for his fellow gnarling as usual.

Gavin Granitbane harrumphed, a general disapproval of any association involving Mr. Tallwind and fire, yet the fireman did not make any actual objections.

"I don't really care." I assured the group. "But I don't think any of us have any tar or pitch to dip branches in."

So, Misters Steal and Tallwind and the fair Miss Bramblerose set about making a few torches. Tegan and Sean hashed out a plan in less than a minute. Then the curvaceous guide used her glamour of finding and led the trio to suitable fallen branches, a particularly sappy pine tree, and an armload of dead leaves, as well as their way back to the Ways. It seemed to take forever, yet eventually they had flaming sticks to their liking.

We continued on our way along the partially-cobbled Trod. Our trackers, usually Rai, would point out little verifications, usually a drop of Joey's blood, that we were still on the right track. As we walked, the sounds of small creatures that had been before us would fall silent, only to resume when they had fallen far behind us. The slight breeze brought the subtle smells of fallen leaves and over ripe vegetables. The darkness continued to press against the light I provided and practically overwhelmed the sad efforts of the makeshift torches.

Another short time later, a thing came into view that at first looked like a billboard. Through the thick foliage I could see that the object was flat, white, and easily large enough to be a billboard; however it seemed to be sticking out of the ground at an angle—one corner buried, the other pointed skywards. When our troupe passed by, we were close enough to make out a black, numeral 3—nearly five feet from end to end—and a spade symbol side ways in the corner of the large white board. Sean Tallwind half jested that he "don't want to meet the gambler that plays with a deck that size". The rest of us wholly agreed.

Not long after that, our collective attention had been drawn to chopping sounds. Then the Ways we walked carried us along the side of a still and murky lake, the sky could be seen for the first time since we had departed the Hawk Wood Court, the moon could be seen playing hide and seek amidst large rolling clouds. The chopping came from up high in the trees within sight of the Ways, on the far side of charcoal grey water. Some moonlight revealed a handful of the hatchet headed cormorant-like birds, like the ones my group had seen before we found and liberated our haven, Amaryllis.

These birds clung in pairs around knobbly looking pods on the trees. Assuming the axe-beaks were the same size as those we saw before, the pods they were attacking were roughly a foot and a half wide and over two feet long and they looked very much like exceptionally large barnacles. We watched as a pair of the avian lumberjacks set about using their sharpened beaks to hack into one of the pods. The sound echoed over the still lake water. Once the pod cracked open, we could just barely make out what seemed to be a mostly formed goose or swan—like it had been in an egg and would have come forth full grown, had the hatchet-heads not arrived.

As the axe-birds set about consuming the half formed rewards of their labor, "Ooh," Sol clapped softly and smiled wide as she watched the feeding, speaking as if she had been remember an answer to a quiz, "Barnacle Geese! Medieval sailors used to think that a certain type of goose came from giant barnacles… Looks like they where right."

"Or rrg," Our hirsute companion squinted his otter-y eyes at the gruesome feast skeptically, "their rrmph beliefs made urm these things arr come true." He pointed to the birds.

Personally, I had just hoped that the scene was not an ill-omen. I also wondered silently, if the axe-beaks presence had been an indication that we were still near Athens. Since my group had a magic door-portal back at our oak tree that opened in Red Rock Canyon in Nevada, I had assumed Red Rhea would have had Joey stashed as far away as possible. The birds looked tropical, so my gang may have gone through to where the avians were more common, or they could be part of one of the Athens flocks. Freerunner tapped me on the shoulder and urged me to keep moving, the others had already started.

Following the Ways some more, our trackers found few additional indications of recent passage. We grew concerned that the thief had left the path and we may have missed the sign. At about that point, Tegan discovered another shoe print just off the trail, but it had been obscured and we could not be confident it was left by the same person we sought.

Raion-ju pointed one large claw into the woods, off to the side where the footprint was and murmured in his deep throaty voice, "There's more of those big cards over there, but like piled together."

"You think our guy could be hiding there?" Iron Wade asked, tightening his scar crossed grip on his saber's hilt.

The panther-y lad shrugged his mighty shoulders.

I regretted again my poor recall of the Carroll books. Were the cards friendly, dangerous, or indifferent? Did it matter if the only cards that we encountered were building materials? I recalled the cards as guards; however that may have only been in the Disney version.

I stayed with the troupe as we cautiously approached the massive cards. They had been arranged, on their ends and edges, into a tower in a small clearing. I saw red and blue back and at least three design types amongst the playthings turned architecture. The tower had been forty or fifty feet high and probably twenty feet around, the nearest tree branches reached to almost within five feet of the upper stories. The architecture would not work structurally for a regular stack of cards, nor a normal building, yet in the Land Between "regular" and "normal" had ill-defined parameters.

A male voice called out from the upper levels of the structure. "Ho and hail, travelers!"

"An' hail to thee!" I cupped my smooth tanned-hands to my mouth, leaned back, and called up.

"What are you about?" he called down.

None of us could get a look at the speaker.

"We seek someone who may have passed this way with a child. Have you seen them?" Our swordsman called back.

"I have seen people with children!" the tower dweller replied, amused.

Sean Tallwind immediately seemed to grasp the nature of the stranger's conversational style, shook his head in disgust, then tried to compensate for the strangers literalness. "Have you seen such a person and child, pass this way, recently? Very recently."

"Ah," the man said, somewhat grudgingly, "no, not recently."

"Do you know of anyone in the area that might have taken a child?" Our wrinkled gnarling asked.

"Well…" the man paused as if calculating, "yes, I know of someone who does that."

"Will you tell us?!" Wade dry voice barked out, a little frustrated.

"What will I have in exchange?" The unseen stranger asked.

I had been half expecting some sort of bartering to start up. So, I stepped forward. "If you tell me what we should call you, then I shall compose a poem around that for the answer my friend asked for."

I felt the light _twinge-twange_ of a simple deal struck pass through the Gyr between me and the unknown man. At the same moment, there had been a sound of motion and the man leapt and tumbled down the card tower. He landed before me with a theatrical flourish and announced in a sing song tone, "I am the Man with the axe, the Queen with the Flower, the Suicide King, the knave in the Bower." His red hair was quaffed in a shoulder length style and he had one brown and one blue eye. His garb was designed for a medieval nobleman in reds, whites, and blacks. I did not see any axe, although there was a strong rose motif in embroidery on his doublet.

I flustered somewhat from the strangers acrobatic entrance and the fact that I had now been expected to make a quick poem of a quick poem. I took a moment and then spoke out my improvisation. I knew my impromptu ode had not been very good—my first drafts rarely were—I have always best been suited to a drafting and redrafting process. I could tell from Man-Queen-King-Knave's expression that he knew how bad my poem really had been too, as did Dark Sol. The rest of my companions seemed oblivious to my faux paus.

"I never said it would be a good poem." I looked aside and explained to cover my embarrassment.

The oddly dressed fellow tilted his head to me and seemed to concede the point good naturedly. I felt the _gnawt-egniwt_ of my half of our bargain spool away into the potential from which it had come. The sensation had felt a bit more raggedy than usual, I assumed due to my almost failing to fulfill my promise.

"I do know of a man that resides nearby and he is fond of abducting mortal children," Axe-Flower-Suicide-Bower strutted about the small clearing in front of his tower. His bravado and expansive manner compensating for his height of five foot and four (if that).

My comrades did that thing they do whenever we meet someone new as a group—especially if we are in unfamiliar circumstances. Technically, they just start asking questions, only they do not allow for one person to ask a question, receive an answer, then another question is asked that relates. Instead one of my allies will make an inquiry and get an answer. Then someone else asks another question unrelated to the first question or answer, and they probably get their answer—even though the person being questioned is a little taken aback from the radical topic shift. Then that repeats for a while with new questioners jumping in with whatever strikes their fancy. To make the person trying to juggle and reply to all these separate conversations even more confused, crazy, or irate, one of the later questions is inevitably the same as one of the earlier ones—only asked by a different person. That is when one of us who had paid attention to the answer the first time around tries to repeat the answer we had been given, which starts up side conversations that result in missing the newest questions and answers; this resulting in one of the sidetracked conversers to ask a question of the stranger that had already been asked. Depending on the tolerance for foolishness level of the person being ganged up on, this can go on for a long time with very little actual information being shared.

So, I can only do my best to sum up the gist of what was learned whenever one of these verbal blitzkriegs arrives in my narrative. I could never untangle who said what and when. Plus, I am certain that some little detail or other was lost.

In this case, as we barrage-asked our questions and the playful card-ish man did his best to answer, he would continue to strut and pose. I realized—when he stood with his back to us and spoke over his shoulder in profile—that the fellow had been imitating face card portraits from playing cards. It occurred to me that the man had been trying to get us to recognize him like an actor might by quoting their most memorable lines—and it worked, for me, at least.

I had recently studied up on various card games for a few trips into Las Vegas and, as internet research so often did, I wandered a bit. I had found myself reading a history of playing cards, where I had discovered that specific cards have had many names over the years. As I stood in that forest and listened to the bumper-car-style conversation, I pieced together what the eccentrically dressed man had been so blatantly hinting: he was Red King. Suicide King was of hearts and the Man with the Axe of diamonds and the other designations the fellow had spouted were more archaic synonyms. However, by the time I had completed that tiny puzzle, my allies had garbled the discussion so thoroughly that I chose not to introduce my new information, for fear of another wholly unnecessary tangent. Plus, I imagined that I could keep the name as a sort of ace in my pocket for some later use.

All that said, my collective did fare better with the courtly garbed gent, than usual, in that we did not seem to upset him. We even learned that the person that took kids, that Red King had spoke of, was a True Fae Keeper. Also that the Bright One in question wore a long, black coat and hat and had no eyes, yet could see all the same. My stomach seemed to fill with a block of frozen battery acid upon hearing those details. From their pale and sour expressions, my cohorts felt similarly.

When prompted about the smell of decay that Rai had detected back at the Court gathering, Red King told us that the odor had probably been Johnny, one of the Folk's puppets. This news boiled my blood on top of the acid-cicle in my gut.

Puppets, in the world of spirit-touched that have fled their captivity, were effectively traitors or double agents. The people I had met did not care to discuss puppets, however I had found a few references when I had been researching how to get rid of my shadow-eater double. Puppets start like the rest of us, people enslaved by a Bright One, however they do not escape. Instead the Keeper tasks their fae thrall with returning to the mortal world and perform specific actions . Usually, puppets have to supply a particular number or type of mortals for their Master to enslave, in turn the puppet can lead a relatively normal changeling life. Those of us that have broken free of our bondage despise the puppets, that could at any moment turn us over to our former Keepers. Those of us with any empathy also pity the horrible puppets, for they are so much closer to the freedom that they see we have, yet are still mystically chained to the Folk's bidding.

At least, if this Johnny puppet had Joey, my gang could probably wrest the kid away. If Joey had been passed on to the Bright One in the black coat, then my troupe was either going to die, be re-enslaved, or need to flee—probably off the continent.

Peppered throughout the Red King's answers, he tried to get any or all of us to join him in a game of cards. The fellow kept offering interesting stakes, some we recognized some we did not. When the face-card offered hob-fruit, for example, Tegan told those of us who could be bothered to listen "Lots of stuff grows in the Briar," her bell clear voice had a distant quality and her emerald eyes were unfocused, as if she were recalling a dream (which was extremely likely), "like the stabapples. Only some of it has magical effect, like healing, or sleeping a hundred years. Some hob-fruit supposedly provides wyrd, as if you had threshed it straight from a normal person."

Knowing about Johnny, made my allies eager to leave, but I could not pass up the chance to replenish some of my woefully low wyrd reserves. I had not felt so wyrd weak since I had learned how to harvest anger from the unchanged.

"Okay, real quick," I pulled off my cloves as I addressed Red King, "if you have some of that wyrd-full fruit, I'll play you some poker for it."

The theatrical man's mismatched eyes twinkled with delight. "I have the ante to be sure." He rummaged in his pockets and produced two pair-like fruits and a pack of cards. "But what stakes do you offer me?"

I still had several comps from my glamour enhanced successes in Las Vegas, so I pulled out a pair of tickets. "Two tickets to the Joust in the Excalibur Casino in Las Vegas?"

My opponent danced a little jig then sat on the ground and started shuffling. I sat also. We each placed one of our offered items between us and played some five card stud. Meanwhile my comrades fidgeted anxiously around us. I believe Mr. Man of Steal and Mr. Tallwind wanted to leave me behind, but the other insisted we stay together. Even so, they all tried to gently urge us along, with words and let's-go-let's-go gestures.

As always, when I play cards for stakes, I tried to charm and dazzle my opponent with wit and conversation, it did not phase Jack-Queen-King-Knave. If my companions were impressed or surprised by my steady stream of patter, they made no indication.

I could have enhanced my luck or reduced my opponent's with fortune altering glamours, however that would have required me to use some of my low wyrd reserves. As I had no way to know how much of the magical energy the hob-fruit would bestow, I felt that playing the game straight was my only wise option.

Even as I write this much later, I still hold that my so called allies' pesterings had been enough of a distraction to cause my poor showing. I lost one ticket and had to compensate by adding my buy-2-get-1-free room at New York, New York. All told it only took five or six hands and I had lost my whole stake, however I had won the two pear-shaped wyrd-fruit. I would have been happy to have just traded the various vouchers for the fruit, except the red royal seemed happier with the gambling method.

I had expected to have to eat as we walked on. Instead, I ate my winnings, while Gavin stepped up to Red King and accepted a further challenge. The rest of the group groaned and Tallwind actually pulled at his lanky hair in frustration.

Our rough hewn companion produced a couple of breakfast bars from his jacket and spun some cheesy advertising-grade rhetoric about their value as "a full meal". The Man with the axe, the Queen with the Flower, the Suicide King, the Knave in the Bower seemed to buy what Gavin shoveled and agreed to play more cards, putting up more information on Johnny the kidnapper. Of course, I did get the feeling that the card man would play for any excuse. The fireman/bouncer's style of play had been aggressive and borderline threatening—and it worked, the card tower's resident had been successfully unnerved to the point of loosing.

I ate my hob-fruit, while I watched the gaming. The fruit's skin had been thicker than a pear's and yellower with some shininess—not metallic or luminous, more like mother of pearl or Christmas wrapping. I remember that the flesh was soft and juicy. I cannot, however, recall the flavor or aroma, though. I know I would like more, as much now as I did then. Upon finishing each fruit, I could feel the increased ambient presence of wyrd, where it seemed to linger behind my mind. It was like a kind of hunger, I had been hungry for the wyrd (although not starving) and the hob-fruit took the edge off. I had been by no means sated, yet I felt more confident that I could cast any of my glamours should the need arise.

Red King explained, "Johnny's a blighter," to Gavin's blank stare, "that's a type of darkling. He leaves a trace of decay and rot wherever he goes, all blighters do." The gambler clarified, for the trackers. "Any plant Johnny touches will show signs of sickness and rot."

Our party could wait no longer. Rai, 'Runner, and Tegan felt sure that they had seen, and not understood the significance of, signs of ill plants on our journey thus far. We made polite partings with the card dweller and continued back to the Ways and our quest.


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

Back on the Ways again; I was getting tired. The subtleties of the Briar around us kept changing—a copse of fir trees would pass on our right, the gnarled trunks of one area would eventually give way to pillar straight, wide leafed ferns, which eventually were replaced by berry bushes, and so on—proof of our party making some sort of progress. Even so, I started to feel as if it had all been one big dark-green blur. Plus, my legs were getting sore, even in my Dock Martins the uneven ground had been a chore.

The sounds, smells, and temperature all fluctuated in similar manners as the flora. Some sounds grew louder or closer for a time, chirping might give way to squawking, scuttling, or slithering. Aromas of straw, warm wax, corn, wet leaves, rotting flesh, and many more came and went, usually faint in the air. The chill varied from a light-jacket-would-be-nice to frost forming in the dew. At least, I gathered the temperature shifts from the mild complaints of my equally weary traveling companions.

I struck and spit on another match to maintain my Summer's Embrace. I chose not to count the spent sticks, but I had started the trek with only a couple of used matches in my spare box and it had become a quarter to a third full. Of course, glamours were connected to the Gyr and The Gyr was weird, so few glamours have reliable durations. Also, time does not always flow smooth or steady through the Maze. As a result, how long we had been hunting Johnny and his captive, or how much time until sunrise, were mysteries to me.

Theoretically our path-finding duo may be able to employ their glamour to determine how far past midnight we had actually traveled. However, I did not want to be disappointed, so I did not venture to ask anyone for a time estimate. Either very little time had past and our task would seem to stretch impossibly long before us, or too much time had past and we had little hope of returning to the ritual circle before sunrise. As long as I received no confirmation to the contrary, I could imagine that we had plenty of time and were rapidly gaining on our quarry.

The crappy torches my companions had made to supplement my enchanting mystic glow proved of some legitimate value. Fire offers more color spectrum light and that helped Sean Tallwind, Tegan Bramblerose, Iron Wade the Man of Steal, and Raion-ju all spot discolored patches on plants. The discoloring, or bits of rot, was always right where a sleeve or leg might have brushed the leaf or branch. That also explained why Johnny had stayed so consistently to the relatively clear Ways, his decaying foot prints would be easier to track through the usually thick underbrush. The trail of blight also accounted for the relatively persistent odor of overripe vegetables.

Rai did also continue to point out the occasional drop of Joey's blood, thus corroborating we were following the right Blighter. We still could not tell if we were gaining, though.

Those of us not tracking, watched for potential dangers, or were sightseeing, depending on how one considers such things. We stayed within reach of one another and made certain to watch the person before us—the surest way to be certain that we would remain on the same Trod, short of tying ourselves together. I would bet that Sean had enough rope or twine in his pack to tie us together, but that would have caused more movement problems than it was worth.

As I had been renewing my comfortable temperature glamour, so too, had Freerunner been continuing to glamour his half dozen ferrets. 'Runner spent more of his time paying attention to the furry rodent tubes than to any of the rest of us. After we had traveled away from the Tower of Cards for another short period, the be-whiskered man garbled, "Urm one of rrah the ferrets rmph spotted arrh somethin' shiny." He pointed a hairy finger to the side of the path. "'S in rrerr the trees urrm overrr thererer."

The eight of us were hesitant for a moment, not wanting to delay our chase even further. On the other hand, it had been a shiny and only magpies are more distractible then the group with which I walked.

Without much effort, the rest of us did discover something glinting reflected light, not far from our trail. Closer investigation revealed the source to be a silver hand-mirror stuck in the middle of a cluster of purple buds, thirteen or fourteen feet up the trunk of a tree. The buds had been about the size of my fist with vine-y roots that seemed to grow directly into the tree trunk's dark brown bark. The buds encircle the shiny mirror and partially over the object in places.

I had been fascinated with how the mirror could have gotten there. Did it fall or get thrown for the purple buds to catch? Or did the buds sprout over time because the mirror had been positioned there? Or had the mirror just been part of the plant, like a visual version of a flytrap's sweet smell? Whatever, the case, none of my company particularly liked the looks of the situation—those pods could have been poison or lash out as tentacles or who knew what.

The whole cluster had been just out of reach of our tallest party members. Rai, Wade, or Gavin could have probably jumped up far enough to snatch the mirror shaped object, yet not without jostling the purple plant. None of our tall fellows cared for the idea, as long as there was still doubt about the buds safety.

Our more literarily inclined gnarling, Sean, stood below the mirror and called up to it. "Mirror, mirror, in the tree, show us the boy we wish to see!"

I did not know if he was just joking, or if he had actual reason to believe that talking to the thing would accomplish anything. I also did not know why neither I nor Dark Sol, two Lit majors, had not thought of something similar—I suspected the nefarious thought-consuming niggler fish. Tallwind's ploy worked, sort of—the mirror radiated a bluish light for a few moments. Unfortunately, the object had been angled in such a way that none of us could see the mirror's glassy face.

Mr. Granitbane, muscleman extraordinaire, offered to Sean, "Hey, you could stand on my shoulders. Then you should be able to see what it shows."

The long fingered man took a step back from Gavin, wide eyed, "I wasn't born yesterday. That's a trap, if ever I saw one." He pointed to the mirror.

I sighed. I wanted to get back to our mission so we could get home to bed. However, the mirror responded to Tallwind's rhyme, so it was likely a useful tool. I really just wanted to get the thing, if we were going to, and move along. No need for debate or discussion. I also sort of wanted to prove Sean the perpetual doom sayer wrong. Plus, I wanted a magic mirror—even if it only glowed, it was cool. Not to forget to mention, anything magical must be worth trade to someone.

I sighed again and told my pebbly red-orange compatriot, "No worries big guy, I'll do it. Give me a leg up."

With the mighty power of hindsight, I now know, I should have handled things differently. In addition to my other reasons, at the time, I had felt a little guilty for delaying out quest to gamble with the face-card-man and I wanted to show willingness to just grab the thing and move on. Plus, it had been around twenty hours since I had woke up and seven or more since I had eaten. The goblin fruit had filled my wyrd, yet not my belly. So, the caution part of my brain may have been snoozing.

Standing on Gavin's broad shoulders with him holding my ankles, I was able to see the mirror in the purple buds quite well. The mirror had been there long enough for the plants to have grown over it a little, so there was no way to remove the looking glass without jostling the buds. Throwing rocks would likely break the mirror. I briefly considered using my stabapple spike to poke a bud from arm's length, but figured if something came out I would still most likely be in range of it.

I slipped on my leather gloves, covered my nose and mouth with my left hand, and snatched the mirror as deftly as I could with my right. I got the mirror, but also brushed one of the pods. The pod exploded in a cloud if glittery motes that covered me and Gavin. For the record, had I used my stabapple thorn, we would indeed still have been engulfed.

Our fellow travelers had stayed well away from Gavin Granitbane and me, while I pulled that stunt. They did immediately start acting petty and condescending. I ignored them and tried to get the looking glass to work. Gavin on the other hand became more and more obsessed with imaginary purple, one- eyed cats.

I had immediate success with the silver filigreed hand mirror, followed by frustration. With a variation on Sean's rhyme, I said, "Mirror, mirror, in my hand, show me the boy we seek in this land."

The image in the mirror became a close up of a young blond boy that matched the description I had heard of Joey. The boy I saw in the mirror looked terrified and was crying.

I had been sitting with my legs folded Indian style and held my mirror, with both hands, I spoke to it again, "Mirror, Mirror, made of glass, show me the way the boy did pass."

I was then shown the red door that Red Rhea had employed and that my posse all had passed through.

I tried other variations on simple rhymes trying to get a map or depiction of the trail Johnny had used. Each attempt came to naught of any use. As if the mirror were purposely making light of me, once it even showed the image of the back of my own head, when I had not referenced to myself in the rhyme at all.

Meanwhile, I was being as distracted by Gavin as the rest of my companions. Mr. G had been insistent that the cycloptic-cats were there, claiming some of them smoked pipes and others danced and any number of things. Our allies laughed and tried to get us both to stop fooling around.

I had been delighted to see a small school of nigglers swarming around Gavin's head, it served as proof of my suspicions since we had exited the red door-portal. I stood and stabbed vigorously at the floating fish with my stabapple-thorn. I missed each time and could not get the thought-fish to disperse. Ungratefully, Gavin had been irritated at my jabbing a pointed stick repeatedly around his lumpy head, so I thought to return to my mirror musings.

Then I noticed that Iron Wade had a bright purple squid on his head. I could tell that the metal-oriented gnarling had been unaware of the indigo cephalopod. I told Wade to stand still as I tried to stab the air-squid, he just ducked and flinched anyway, and I missed that target as well. Since the haggard fencer showed even less appreciation than Gavin had, for my efforts on his behalf, I left him to the squid's tender caresses and tried more rhymes on the mirror.

The rest of my comrades continued to giggle and point at Gavin and me, for some reason. Some of my allies ran around in haphazard circles. I could not tell why I had been the only one thinking clearly and doing something useful…If only I could find the rhyme that would get the mirror to show me the right images.

Eventually, lustrous-pale Sol came over and gave me some leaves. I cannot remember what the monochrome woman said, however she successfully got me to chew the leaves thoroughly. Then the slinky creepster went over to the orange bouncer and gave some leaves to him as well. It took wan Dark Sol a little longer to get Gavin to comply, as he was rolling on the ground mimicking the cats that he thought he saw.

After a few swallows of bitter leaf juice, Gavin and I started vomiting-_violently_. The two of us retched for what seemed like hours, but was probably closer to five or ten minutes. Hunched over on hands and knees, we spewed, our eyes and noses started to gush and eventually even our ears wept wax and whitish fluid.

I generally believed that it was wrong to hit woman and children. Even so, at that point, I wanted very much to strike Sol hard in her unnaturally white and currently lithe stomach. Sadly, I had been too sore and weak to get off my hands and knees. In fact, I could barely stop myself from collapsing into the gross puddle I had just made.

Just when I thought I was going to pass out from dehydration, the angelic Tegan Bramblerose came over, patted my shoulder, and kissed the back of my head. The bloomwell's touch was firm and soothing and her wildflower aroma help to block out some of the bile before me. The kiss felt like sunshine and cinnamon rolls melting into my scalp and flooding my frame. Then I was fine. I was not longer hungry, sore, tired, or weak. I got up and away from the mess that I had made, as quick as I could. Gavin had received the same care. Thus, neither of us were hallucinating any more. Plus, the rocky guy and I felt fully rested, fed, and relaxed.

"My Breath of Vitality glamour," explained Tegan, sparkling green eyes sympathetic and voice stern, like my grade school nurse, "won't work against toxins or drugs. So, Sol had to clean out your systems first." She studied Gavin and me, "Are you feeling better? No more purple cats or squids around?"

My fellow psychedeliac and I verified our improved states of mind and body. My anger at our darkling attendant had dissipated with the sweet auburn haired lady's restorative, however I was going to make sure to be more cautious when accepting ingestibles from Sol. The goth lady seemed just a little too pleased with herself when she saw me chewing away on those vile leaves.

"Well that sucked." Gavin offer to the group.

Rai had barely said more than two words together since just after we had passed through Red Rhea's magic portal, we had come to accept this as normal communication for the big felinoid engineer. So, the large cat-man startled us when he replied to, "Yeah, I bet those flowers are lavender-dreams. I heard about them somewhere, but I have never seen any. So, I didn't figure it out until the glittery, spore cloud, and you two started hallucinating." He nodded his wide head to Gavin and me. "The lavender-dream is a powerful hallucinogen. In fact you two are fairly lucky to have been effected as mildly as you were." He shrugged. "Of course, untreated it would have just gotten worse and worse."

That is when, as if on cue, we heard the far off baying of hounds.

'Oh, rrrr yeah," Freerunner rumbles as we all looked towards the sounds in the distance, "I urm heard them rrg earlier, rre when the," he jabbed his thumb at me and Gavin, "wererrr gadding about… They rrurr sound closerrrn now."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI**

Six of us followed Raion-ju and Tegan Bramblerose, swiftly back to what had started to feel like "our_"_ Ways. We continued along the old semi-cobbled path. The frightful howling and baying sounded at irregular intervals, sometimes closer and sometimes farther. Few other forest sounds came up during that period, thus making our party's every footfall and whisper seem like a clarion.

As much as we all seemed tensed to run, each of us knew that our greatest individual safety relied on staying with the group—at least, I was confident that had been what I read in the language of my allies' bodies. Also, as long as we were not under immediate attack, we also still wanted to retrieve young Joey. Our trackers still moved at a measured pace that allowed them to find occasional signs of the blighter Johnny's decay or drops of Joey's blood.

"So," Iron Wade the Man of Steal dry voiced rasped, his saber ready, and staring into the trees, after a close sounding baying, "we thinking those are the same dogs that chased us back at Kendal?"

Wade referred to the first night that our group had returned from our captivities. When we had left the abandoned medical research building and struck off into the darkness, only to discover that a pack of preternaturally intelligent hounds were tracking us. I shuddered at both the memory and the possibility that those creatures might still be after us weeks later.

Rai and Tegan paused and each did something with their hands. I suspected that whatever the two had done was a trick to cast their glamour of Briar navigation without use of wyrd. Then both people stood stock still for a few seconds. When the duo came out of their little trances, the petite auburn-haired white girl and the six-foot-six-tall wall of a black man, looked at each other and shrugged, then turned to Wade like they had been Harpo and Lucy doing the mirror routine. I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the weird juxtapositions—I found it even funnier if I cast Rai as Lucy.

Ms. B answered the weathered oil change specialist, "No they're definitely not the same pack from Kendal. But that doesn't mean these guys aren't tracking us, there's just no way to tell for sure. But it doesn't seem likely that they are after us…yet."

I had slipped my new hand mirror into my jacket pocket- it just fit. I was not confident about the magic grooming accessory. The device definitely had power, even the people that were not loopy on lavender dream saw the mirror's image changing. The thing I had to figure out was if the magic was reliable, random, capricious, or out right malicious. Before we started moving again, I pulled out the mirror, held it up, and gave it another go.

"Mirror, Mirror, taken from the wild, please show me who abducted the child."

The button-bright face of Aeolean—the Master of my durance—appeared in the glass. The Keeper's amazing-terrible piercing eyes saw and recognized me.

"Gowaygowaygoway!" I shouted almost involuntarily and jammed the mirror into my pocket. I had begun shaking and tried hard to stop myself from bolting into the dense woodland.

My outburst, naturally drew my companion's attentions. My fellows turned their barrage style questioning on me. "What happened, Tommy?" "What did you see, Tommy?" "What's the big deal?" and more.

My mind reeled. I tried to deflect their badgering: "Nothing's wrong. No one. I don't know." I had hoped that they would clue into my abject denial meant that this was not the time or place. I also had a hard time trying to assess what seeing the Master of the Boys could mean… and my so called friend's jibber-jabber made it every thought harder.

Did the mirror understand my plea? I thought actually saying please would help. Was Aeolian truly behind Joey's abduction? Did He really see me through the looking glass? Was that enough for him to find me? Did he see the others with whom I traveled? When He came, could I flee faster than the others? Even if He did not know exactly where I had been, would the image be enough to provoke Him to seek me more ardently?

It had been a couple of long minutes, of gang questioning and lone denials. I had been getting more and more tense. Iron Wade was in one of his particularly tenacious moods and hit on the wrong nerve. "You're contradicting yourself, Tommy. Why not just come clean?"

I am not sure if it was that Mr. Steal alluded that I had been lying, or that I had been sort of blaming all melancholically Graced peoples for my being where I was, or that I had been so thoroughly distracted, or what, regardless I barked back, "Well, why don't you just start calling out the name of whoever enslaved you for over seven decades!?" Iron Wade had mentioned, at one of our breakfast share times, that he had dreamembered that his captivity in the Other World had lasted more than seventy years. I turned to include the others, my voice thick with sarcasm, "I'm sure that speaking out those names, in this place, couldn't possibly be a bad idea! Or that talking about it in detail, right now, must be the best time!"

The seven of them became quiet for a prolonged moment, although, for Rai that meant no change. Wade broke the silence, softly stating, "Oh… okay… yeah, I get it."

We continued our journey without further discussion. Thankfully, I do not think any of my companions saw how close I had been to tears. The terror and longing in seeing that face—that beautiful/horrifying, old/young face—had welled up in me had almost been too much. Especially, added to frightening aspects and exposed feeling of the dark groping Briar all round us.

I slowly regained my composure as we continued on.

With all of us now looking, we were able to easily find continued confirmation of Johnny's passage. I believe Gavin, 'Runner, and Dark Sol, had joined the ground and scrub scouring in an effort to get away from the unseen hounds sooner. The searching also helped me to not think about the mirror, stuffed as deep into my coat pocket as I could.

Sometime later, Mr. Granitbane heard rustling near our path. Cautious investigation revealed a creature having trouble navigating the prickery underbrush tangle. The beast had the hind quarters and head of a stag, yet the fore limbs and teeth of a large hound, and the fresh scars to show were the two animals had been stitched into one. The hideous thing squirmed and shivered and tried to simultaneously freeze and lash out at Tegan and Gavin's as they approached it.

The agile bloomwell got within arms reach of the entangled creature and tried to talk the ensnaring vines into letting go. The full lipped lady would admit, a short while later, that she had been taking a long shot, based on having caused plants to grow through concentration and wyrd and also having spoken with our dryad via roots. However, making the thorny vines grow more fulsome would not free the trapped beast and Tegan discovered that she could not animate the foliage in any other manner.

So on to our plan B: the stony-skinned ogre distracted the abomination, by lunging his blocky hands towards it from various directions, while the nimble green-eyed woman used one of her knives to cut the vines around the thing. Once untangled from the undergrowth, the Franken-beast growled and skittered clumsily off to the west. At least Rai and Tegan agreed that it had been west, I took their word for it in the warped woodland.

Just as the hart-hound (harnd? hount?) left, we heard the baying again. It was closer and coming from the east. We made haste along the northbound Ways. I believed that we had all hoped that the hounds only hunted the harnd. Personally, I also could not stop myself from wondering how much of the hounds were still canine and what else might have been forcibly mixed in.

The unnerving baying had finally died off into the far distance and smaller woodland noises started to return, by the time we came upon the stink hole. A chasm roughly a dozen feet wide bisected our Ways. The crevasse was about as deep as it was wide and the rank smell of feted water, bad eggs, and rotting vegetation billowed out of it. The gap extended as far as the eye could see in either direction—not that any of us wanted to venture that far off the Ways in any case.

A sliver of sky could be seen; the impenetrable black blanket of clouds blocked the moon again. So, there had been no way to gauge how much time had past since we witnessed the hatchet-heads eating barnacle geese.

Miss Bramblerose and Mr. Rai did the thing with their hands again, that mesmerized them for a few seconds. Rai bowed to Tegan and they actually had a brief hushed confab, before Tegan reported to the rest of us.

"It will take way too long to circle around this pit." Tegan gestured open palmed to the gap in the earth. "And we are sure this same Ways resumes directly across there." She pointed.

I wondered if our quarry had sabotaged whatever bridge he had used. If so was that just as precaution, or was he aware we were chasing him. Or since Rai said Johnny smelled like decay anyway, did Johnny simply climb down and wade through the stench bog. As I mused, my allies were discussing vines, jumping, makeshift stilts, throwing each other, and other unlikely options to traverse the stink hole.

The mighty Gavin got bored with the discussion and brought us all out of our reveries, as well as solving the problem. The hobbyist weightlifter stepped over to a two story tall tree, squatted down, hugged the trunk, then lifted it free of the earth. I will not say that Gavin made it look effortless, but I would be less scared of him accidentally squishing me, had he strained more. I also saw again the side of the man that made me consider him more ogre than elemental. Gavin then walked the tree over and placed it as a bridge across the crevasse—making sure to really work the ends into the ground for stability.

After our posse had picked up the trail again, spindly fingered Sean asked if anyone knew the time. I groaned inwardly, I knew that we had been walking on borrowed time and now the proverbial bell would toll. Yet again, ever-fresh Tegan and Rai of sinew and claw enacted their glamour ritual and agreed that it had been around 4:00 am.

Which made me think about when I last used the mirror and how that must have been right about 3:00 AM. Three o'clock had been when we had all first revived in the real world after escaping the Other. Three AM had also been when each of us inevitably woke—sweating, angry, and afraid—from a dreamemberings. I had really started to get a complex about 3:00 in the morning.

My attention returned to the conversation at hand when the saggy skinned sour puss Sean pointed out, "So, dawn's, what… in less than three hours."

"That means," Iron Wade sounded incredulous as he held his weapon in one armpit and blew on his marred hands for warmth, "we've been out here more than four hours, tracking this kid?"

"About four." Miss Bramblerose amended, rubbing her own alabaster hands up and down her green-blue flannelled arms.

"Even if we do find and retake the boy," Our possibly-gumshoe's hang dog expression did not alter, "we can't logically be able to get back to the ritual site in time."

If I had not expected it my heart would have sank. As it was, my mind raced for what our collective should do next. I doubted that returning to the Barrow Mound to report failure would go well for us. Would neutral Ariadne's be a safe place?... would we able to secure our hollow and only interact with the fae of the Western Territories?...

Tegan and Rai shook their heads definitively. The Bloomwell path-finder explained, "Not true. The Briar doesn't use that kind of logic. Time _is_ running out and we need to find Joey soon, but we still have a chance to get him back on time."

My innards lurched, as hope and skepticism wrestled inside me. As much as my penchant for research had made me this gang's defacto knowledge center for general spirit-touched trivia, Tegan and Rai had never been wrong about the Thorn Maze, yet.

We trodded on our Ways.

Our troupe had barely started moving again when our large panther-man collapsed. Our default medics, Tegan and Sol, went to Rai's sides immediately. The rest of us went on guard.

In addition to preparing my cold-iron knuckles, I reduced my faery-light as far as I could. Iron Wade and Tallwind dropped their torches and stepped away from them. The fencer's saber had raised, ready for action. Gavin and 'Runner turned their backs to our party and scanned the surroundings. The hairy fellow chattered quietly and his ferret friends slinked into the underbrush.

The auburn-haired angel of mercy reported from her crouched position, while her black-clad partner continued to examine the gently moaning cat-ogre, "He's sweaty and pallid and can't focus. My glamour didn't help." Tegan's own heart-shaped face seemed even paler than usual and a bit stricken in the dim flickering light.

"I can't find any wounds or rashes to account for his symptoms." Sol stated, staying close—almost clinging to—to Rai's much larger form.

The rest of us just scanned the nearby forest for attackers.

"Psst!" the chunky dark form of Gavin hissed and stage whispered, while trying to act like he had not seen something, "Weird shadow shape on my ten, maybe a dozen yards out."

I saw that everyone, except Dark Sol, understood what 'on my ten' meant. So I followed the other's gazes, as did Sol. About forty-five degrees to Gavin's left and roughly twelve yards away, a dark creature the size of a small pony stood more still than the breeze rustled foliage. The thing may have been a type of dog, but its long shaggy hair hung down, obscuring what few details may have been seen by our pathetic torch lights. Shaggy looked more like a small, mobile, black haystack, than anything else and I was guessing at the mobility because of what I took to be its four legs.

After a moment's observation, it seemed clear that the shaggy beast was staring intently at Rai—assuming what I thought was the head had eyes where I guessed they would be.

I went ahead and asked, "Is it staring at Rai?"

A gentle chorus of "yeps" had been my comrades' reply.

Our orange stone-skinned ogre wasted no more time, he grabbed up a cobblestone the size of his own rocky head and whipped it at the skulking thing. The beast moved swift, although not swift enough, the projectile glanced off the thing's (still guessing) shoulder.

The hairy voyeur moved back into the woods another dozen or so paces, yet kept an unobstructed sight line to Rai. The panther-y guy did seem to improve slightly and that had been all the encouragement Gavin needed. The ex-rescue worker selected and hurled another surprisingly large rock. When that rock also hit the creature, it retreated out of sight and Rai returned to normal within seconds.

It occurs to me now, that we initially had no real reason to believe the shaggy darkling creature had been at fault. Yet, the thing did prove that if something in the Briar seemed malicious, then it probably was.

"Oh, hey, yeah…" Once I could think about more than potential combat, I recalled something that I shared with my fellow. "One of the times I was at the library, I was trying to research how to best approach Chinese guardian creatures. You know, because of the liquor store owners we met."

My comrades put together some replacement torches while I spoke. This was the fourth or fifth time they had to repeat the process; their handicraft had not proven to be very long burning. I refrained from expanding my faery luminance again, until after we had started traveling once more.

"Anyway," I went on, "according to the internet, there are these things translated as disease-spirits. Like a bunch of tales of Asian spirit-beings disease-spirits have several physical descriptions, but long black hair was absolutely one of them. Plus, they usually have the ability to cause sickness by concentrating their desire. So, I'm sure that that is what Gavin just scared off."

After I relayed that recollection, my party all agreed to start moving again and quicker—since we had no way to know if the Disease Spirit could effect more of us if given time, or if it might have a pack to summon and retaliate upon us.

I wondered if an Asian spirit indicated we were close to southern China. The area would be equatorial enough to warrant the tropical, cormorant-like, hatchet birds. Yet, Tegan acted like we were still near Athens. Rai's lack of communication had been as unhelpful as always.


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

Rather than all eight of us continuing to look for signs of our quarry's passage, we returned to having half track and the rest watch for signs of danger within the surrounding Wilder Wood. After the stench bog our trackers had seen an increased number of blighter marred plants. I had hoped that Johnny had been getting more careless on this side of the smelly crevasse, however the signs started to thin again. Apparently, the vegetation had simply encroached on our Ways more, near the pit.

We were just starting to slow back to our scour-every-leaf pace, when one of Freerunner's ferret flunkies flushed another abomination into our path. Like the harnd, this new terrible beast had been a crude amalgam of two animals, a possum and some sort of bird, again the sutured areas seemed fairly fresh and the thing's actions were at odds with itself. The Franken-beast tried to take to the air and fake passing out at the same time, resulting in an awkward leap upward, then fall on its back.

'Runner wrangled his ferrets and we all did our best to avoid the half thing and continue on, it seemed like the kindest thing that we could do to stop startling the pathetic creature. It may have been more humane to have killed the miserable beast, however I had not killed anything and was not ready to start. I can not say why the rest of my gang members chose to leave it alone, perhaps their casual willingness to kill people leaves them with more room for empathy towards suffering or animals.

Then a few minutes later, our trackers stopped altogether. Tegan Bramblerose stood with her hands on her attractive hips and conceded, "Trails dead. No more signs of sick plants, or blood, or anything."

"Everyone spread out," Iron Wade the Man of Steal rasped with a shrug, "and start scanning either side of the path. We'll work our way back to the last marker?" He had more asked than ordered.

While most of us concentrated on finding a fresh clue near the Ways, Gavin Granitbane had wandered farther afield in his searching. I could not tell if the brick-colored bouncer had become more confident with his recent tree-to-bridge success, or had been trying to compensate for having been doused by the lavender dream… or maybe the Briar—or thought eating inviso-fish—distracted him. Whatever the case, something removed Gavin's sense of caution and he did move away from our relatively unobstructed Ways, with no apparent concern for a safe return.

The buff fireman's gambit paid off, he spotted a strung out looking, blond dude hiding in a fallen, hollow tree trunk. Gavin, impatient to get on with our task, moved to the log, lifted it over his head, and brought it and it's passenger to a clear spot on our Ways. The log's occupant swearing a blue streak of dismay the whole way.

Gavin shook the sickly looking fellow out before setting the log aside. Our suspect/quarry, Johnny, righted himself quickly, as if he had lots of practice getting up from being tossed down. Johnny had been average height, so a little shorter than most of the men in our posse, and hunched forward making himself seem even shorter. The blighter's skin was waxy, yet flaky in some places, and a mottle of sickly yellows, greys, and greens, as well as covered in sores and rashes—a large tumor most predominant on the right side of the man's (I am being generous to call him that) head and face. Johnny's lanky hair may have been blond, although had been so filthy that I could not be sure. The clothes in which Johnny had been covered were grimy and ragged, sneakers, jeans, button-less/zipper-less jean jacket, and an old The Cure t-shirt. I will give Johnny some credit, though, he had been the only person that I have ever seen actually wear a piece of clothing ironically. The man's(?) rheumy-yellow eyes constantly darted around seeking a place to dart to or any sympathy.

The stench of decaying flesh had been so thick around Johnny that none of us could stand being within arms reach of him—Raion-ju's sensitive nose kept him several paces away. Plus, we were concerned about how potent this darkling's rotting touch might be, we had, after all, just spent hours tracking the ruined plants that he had merely brushed against.

I felt as if I had seen Johnny somewhere recently, however could not place it. When I started to compile the writings you are reading, it occurred to me that I had seen the faun, Dr. Dionysus, whack the blighter on the head with a cane once.

"Where's the boy? Were is Joey?!" Gavin glowered, growled, and clenched his boulder fists at Johnny.

"Uh, hey man," Johnny's nasally voice warbled and cracked, "you're, like really strong, man."

Iron Wade stepped next to the rocky bouncer, his saber held low but ready. The haggard wizened barked, "Don't try and change the subject! Where's the kid?!"

The other woodland sounds had gone still and my compatriots raised voices almost echoed in the quiet.

"Umm, what kid, man? Uh, Johnny Rotter don't know nothin' about no blonde kid, man."

"Yes, you do!" The fencer's sword twitched. "You just said blond, we did not say he was blond! "

"Oh, um, hey, you didn't?" Johnny Rotter's furtive gaze kept darting around the area, "If your not after a blond, what color hair does the kid you lost have, man, maybe I seen 'im?"

"Listen you little turd!" Gavin stomped two steps over to a sapling, grabbed it with one red-orange mitt, and pulled it free of the ground. "Don't try and play that game with us, or I'll re-plant this down your throat!"

I hid my smile, 'turd' was a major swear word for Gavin. On the other hand, I had been pretty sure that Mr. G had been showing his truest ogre self and not bluffing about the tree.

The rest of the group ringed Rotter and were ready to stop any attempts to run.

Iron Wade tried to control his temper and stopped shouting, yet still spoke sternly, "Look Johnny, we know you took the boy, Joey, from Red Rhea's ritual. We know you were carrying him along this Trod. Where is he now?" With the gnarling's raspy voice, he sounded a fair deal like Clint Eastwood.

"Hey, look man, maybe you're lookin' for a Johnny, but not Johnny Rotter." The Blighter swallowed hard as Gavin's tightened grip made the sapling crack. "Uh, yeah, right right. Look Johnny Rotter might of seen your kid, man." If anything his winy voice became even more high pitched and nasal. "Only the kid ain't here, man."

"Where is he!" both interrogators said in unison, through clenched teeth.

The rest of us simply ringed the conversation looking as stern and unsympathetic as possible. Rai and 'Runner did watch our surrounding for additional threats and the hirsute man set his ferrets to scouting nearby.

"Whoa, stereo, man." Rotter said.

Iron Wade raised his saber to point, steady, at Johnny's chest.

"Okay, okay," Johnny shook more violently, but did not try to step back, "shit man, Johnny Rotter didn't… uh, don't got the kid. Damn, man." His eyes were fixed on the sword point. "Maybe the thing is, uh, that Johnny Rotter seen the kid on the path here and the kid just, like wigged out and split into the woods, right?" he swallowed again and looked on the verge of tears. "So, like kids are valuable…"

"What?!" Tegan shouted and Johnny's head whipped around to see the beautiful fury on her heart shaped face. The Bloomwell's delicate freckles were completely lost in the deep red anger on her cheeks and her emerald eyes fairly sparked.

"Uh, uh, like you know, not like valuable." The scabrous creature could not decide which threat was greater, but still only shuffled his feet a little, "Kids… the thing is somebody is always lookin' for a lost kid, right? So, like, someone must want the little blond boy back, right? So, like, that's what Johnny Rotter is thinkin'. So, anyway, the kid, like totally scarpers into the woods, right?" His unsteady voice started to lower in pitch, but he continued to shake. "And, like the woods are dangerous and like super easy to get lost in, right. So, Johnny Rotter called all sweet and shit to the kid," Johnny affects a sleazy tone that he seemed to think of as friendly, "Hey little dude, it's like dangerous out there. Come on back to your friend Johnny Rotter and we'll find your moms and pops." His voice returns to it's haggard norm.

"But like the kid don't listen, right, and keeps going." Johnny's eyes flick and linger on a directing to the east. "And like, um, Johnny Rotter wants to help the little guy and all, but, um, like the woods are easy to get lost in. So, uh, Johnny Rotter figures, like wait in this convenient log and, like, the kid'll get scared or hungry and, uh, probably, like come back, right?" He actually seemed honestly a bit desperate for the last part to be true.

Early on in the interrogation I had started to make an attempt to reason with Johnny Sores-and-Puss, however I had been ignored and shouted over. I decided to let my comrades blow off their steam and try to be good cop when the shouting was over. I can not adequately convey how stunned I had been that Wade and Gavin's intimidation tactics worked. I had also been pleased, yet mostly stunned.

It had been clear that we had gotten all we could from our blighter captive. Sean Tallwind prompted a terse discussion of "What do we do with him now?" No one wanted to be responsible for hanging onto or tracking the walking sickness, nor did we did not like the idea of leaving him to track us or report to his puppet Master. The discussion had barely started when Gavin ended it.

The weightlifter scooped up the hollow log in which he had found Johnny in the first place, turned it on end, and slammed it over the blighter. The log easily went two feet into the earth and only splintered a little. Johnny Rotter had been left standing, a gross filling in a barky tube.

Johnny let out a brief terrified yell as the shadow descended over him, but when he realized that he had been unharmed, he wheedled, "Awe, hey man, like that's uncool."

Our posse started walking off in the direction that Johnny had indicated last seeing Joey. The infected darkling pleaded as we passed his wooden cell, "Hey, dudes, come on. Like, don't just leave Johnny Rotter like this, man… At least, like pass Johnny Rotter, like a smoke, man… come on…"

If I had carried cigarettes, I may have given some to the disgusting blighter. I imagined that the incompetent idiot would either asphyxiate himself in the confined space, or light his prison on fire and cook himself alive.

Five or ten minutes of quick, yet careful, searching later, Gavin spotted small barefoot prints and disturbed brush. Perhaps Mr. Granitbane had gained some rare beneficial effects of the Briar, or Joey just left a much clearer trail on his own. Either way, the orange ogre locked into the trail and practically jogged to catch up to the child.

Our interrogators had neglected to get from Johnny just how long it had been since Joey had fled, however we all had the impression that the blighter would not have hid in the log waiting for very long. Thus, my party seemed to gat a second wind, and it felt like our quest may be over soon. For my part, the elation had been tempered by the fact that Joey may have already been gobbled up by a vermicious k'nid or something.

After another minute or so, dashing through the Thorny Tangle, Gavin stopped and started looking hard at the terrain again. The blocky man snapped, frustrated, "Were'd it go?!"

My heart sank, again. Then master of the nose, Rai, reached the other muscleman's location, sniffed deeply a few times, and peered around. The cat-ogre straightened and pointed to a cluster of leaves, then another farther on, "Here. And there." He growled and started moving

"Huh," Sean observed as he hobbled up and saw the markers and we all followed the two large men again, "that's probably a person, but way too high up for what the kid was leaving before." Always able to find the grumpy words to make a hard situation seem worse.

"So, probably snatched by some other douche." Iron Wade said disgustedly.

"Or, Johnny Rotter's boss." Sean replied flatly, again being the ray of sunshine that gives you skin cancer.

So, we each prepared for the fact that Joey had been captured by a new, and possibly much greater, threat.

That is about when the faint strains of Elvis Presley singing came drifting through the trees. The music got louder as we followed our newest trail. The path of bent branches and disturbed underbrush led to a low cleared hill. The King's voice eerily thin and scratchy, wafted from the hill, crooning about a Heartbreak Hotel.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII**

The clearing that had been the hill allowed another rare glimpse of the night sky. The clouds still covered the full expanse, although they had thinned enough to filter a defused moonlight. The struggling moon had been far to one side of the hole in the trees. There also been the hint of a breeze, barely strong enough to disturb the wavy hairs of my head. A faint whiff of machine oil stood out against the rich aromas of greenery and dirt. I could not decide which seemed more anomalous, the oily smell or the sounds of an Elvis Presley record playing over concealed speakers.

I had felt that my collective's dryad-run haven had been pretty magical in the already quite magical Inbetween and even we did not have electricity for record players. Of course, the sound's origin had still not been revealed and was likely to have some magical element of its own.

The hill had not been accessible when the eight of us finally reached its base. A wickedly thorny shrubbery ringed the raised ground. The bush showed no sign of fruit, yet did seem trimmed—relatively flat sides and squared off top, it had been over a story tall and easily as deep.

The hill itself looked grassy, also mowed or trimmed, and clear of any other vegetation. A single structure had been visible at the apex of the hill, a small, ramshackled, corrugated-tin shack. The building, if so it could be called, had been practically a stereotype of a pre-teen's self "constructed" fort or clubhouse.

As our party walked along the thorny wall clockwise, _Heartbreak Hotel_ came to an end. There had been quiet for a dozen seconds or so, then a gentle _pop-crackle_, and the King started to warn us off of his _Blue Suede Shoes_. Elvis's voice remained a little tinny and now clearly coming from the shed.

Moments later, my gang came upon a rusted, yet sturdy, iron portcullis. The gate was blocking an eight or ten foot gap in the hedge-wall. There seemed to be some improbable bike-chain mechanism connected to the gate, however we spent no time trying to decipher the logic that would trigger it.

Sean Tallwind also pointed a long dowel-like finger past where the gate met the thorny foliage wall. "Careful. I'm guessing that metal's electrified… or something."

A metal rod extended along the ground back from the gate. Just on the edge of the thick hedge-wall coppery wires could be seen coiled about the rod. A tiny bit of bright orange could be detected at the other end of the wiring, mostly obscured by leaves. I agreed with Sean assessment that the wires seemed to be part of an extension cord and there was no telling what that might result in within the Between. Especially since the sound of Mr. Presley's crooning strongly supported the theory that electricity did function in that place.

Iron Wade the Man of Steal stood at the gate, sheathed his blade, cupped his scarred hands to his mouth, and called toward the shack, "Hello, in the shed!"

I counted to eleven-one-thousand, then the recorded song got a lot louder and a little clearer. An even louder voice spoke over the music, "What do you want?" It asked as if a polite waiter were taking our order. The voice had been sort of hollow and scratchy as if from a grade school PA system. However, the voice was also lyrically monotonous and androgynous. The vocal effect gave the impression of disinterest even when asking a question.

Mr. Tallwind nudged Gavin Granitbane and Freerunner and pointed, then they did the same to their neighbors. Set into the thorn bushes, near the top and on the other side of the gate, was a '50s era intercom. More wires could just be made out running from the tablet sized device and down into the shrubbery roughly towards the extension cord that Sean had first spotted.

"We've come for the boy!" Our muscleman bouncer barked at the intercom.

There had been a slight pause, while Elvis remained louder, so we knew the com-link stayed open. "I found him." The voice said, as if that resolved the whole thing.

"He's not yours," Tegan Bramblerose tried in a more reasoning tone, "he was taken from our friends and they want him back."

I could tell my allies wanted to grab the portcullis bars, while they dealt with who, or whatever, had been in the metal shelter. Some of them, I am sure, wanted to shake the metal barrier in frustration, other's must have simply desired to tear the thing away altogether. Everyone had enough sense to keep there hands free of potential electrocution, though.

"I am using him." The light, high pitched voice chirped, again as if that resolved any confusion.

We all tensed at the choice of words. There was no good way that "using" could be construed in that context.

"We need to take him now!" Tegan's emerald eyes stared at the speaker as she half pleaded and half commanded the plastic device.

After another brief pause, full of louder Elvis, followed by the almost wistful voice saying, "but I have him…" Then almost cheerfully, "You mean you want to take the parts that I do not use." The speaker seemed pleased to have realized our meaning.

"No!" several of us yelled as one.

"We want all of that boy, whole and functional." Iron Wade spoke quickly. "But we have another that we can trade you for." He then whispered to the rest of us, "Johnny in a log, back there." The weather worn man nodded to where he thought the Ways lay.

"You have another boy for me?" the voice's version of excitement had been chilling, the flat quality only sped up rather than actually emoting.

"Yes, he's ba…" Our overly forthcoming bloomwell almost explained that we had left Johnny elsewhere.

Thankfully, the resident had been done with listening. The intercom cut off and a couple of seconds later, the portcullis chains moved soundlessly and the gate rose.

As most of our troupe made the short trek up the hill, we agreed that we would take this stranger to Johnny—or vice versa—If we had to. However, from the dour looks of Wade, Sean, and Gavin, bargaining probably would not be tolerated for long. Not that Mr. Tallwind, or Wade ever looked much different. Freerunner and Raion-ju stayed near the gate, to guaranty our exit, should we need it.

The six of us had already reached the flimsy looking structure by the time I remembered that the proprietor might well be Johnny Rotter's Bright One boss. I swallowed hard and made certain to not be first through the door. I wondered if I would stand my ground or flee, should I see a long black coat or eyeless face, as Red King had described Johnny's Keeper. I did not bother voicing my concerns at that last possible moment, as I was not the glass-is-all-empty kind of spirit-touched, like Sean Tallwind.

Up close the shack had been larger than I had guessed, maybe twenty feet to a side. Everything about the structure indicated years of makeshift salvaging, each wall had been composed of multiple materials and the only cheap-looking door had been meant for interior use—like a closet. The only window that we saw had been shuttered with part of an old A&W, fiberglass sign.

Iron Wade had been in the lead and first to the door. The swordsman did not wait on any ceremony, he just grabbed the faux brass knob and yanked the door open, then strode in. Mr. O'Steal had at least left his weapon sheathed, as there had been a chance that we might not have to fight. I liked that our most obvious weapon was not presented prior to an attempt to reason.

The wrinkle-man had been next, followed closely by our walking wall, then the agile and curvaceous redhead. The pale yet shadowy Sol was last to enter the so-called building, just behind me.

Inside had been a single large room, decked out with all sorts of kitschy pop junkyard finds. There had been a bed made of old car backseats, mismatched shelves filled with jars and boxes, all kinds of old signage, a fifties era fridge, a jukebox (the source of Elvis's continued accompaniment), and a full sized dentist's chair in the center of it all.

_Blue Suede Shoes_ had ended and the juke dropped its needle onto _I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Cry (Over You)._

Little Joey, barely nine years old, had been strapped—arms, legs, torso, and head—Into the dental chair. The lad's mouth had been pried open with a contraption that belonged in Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange". Joey had been openly weeping, although he could not move and the only noises he made were choked gasps.

Over Joey, stood one of the most disturbing changelings that I had seen, yet. He (I use the term loosely) had been a combination of plastic and wooden manikin parts with obvious bolts and hinges for joints. The "person's" hair had been red, curly, and very clearly plastic. When my group entered, the mismatched-manikin turned to face us and his eyes were marbles (one blue, one yellow) that had been banged into his plastic face, leaving a web work of cracks to radiate from the glass spheres. The face had been of two parts, a peach colored feminine from the upper lip and above, a masculine silvered plastic below.

I had met Tokka, a carved wooden boy, at Ariadne's Freehold and had not been unsettled, however something about the mismatched fellow's construction and precise yet jerky movements simply made my skin itch. So, the stranger had probably been more of a darkling, than an elemental like Tokka.

"Hello, I am called Dahl, Ken Dahl." The manikin said in his almost lyrical stilted tone, the sound still hollow as if through an old speaker. When Dahl spoke the entire lower silver portion of his face slid up an down, to reveal a Polaroid photograph of a mouth's interior. "Welcome to my home. Would you like a drink?" he reached over to a shelf and held up a mason jar filled with what looked like neon green antifreeze.

Ken Dahl wore a flimsy lime green ladies rain coat backwards, as a smock. Otherwise, as far as I could tell, the disturbing spirit-touched wore a clean white dress shirt, brown slacks, black socks and dress shoes. The shoes were not a matched pair, yet the ensemble seemed too normal for the surroundings and body in and on which it was found.

"Uh, no thanks." Wade was the first to recover enough composure to speak. "We just want the boy."

Dahl turned his head to Joey, "He's going to be parts of my friend." His statements remained matter of fact and the speed of the words seemed almost cheerful.

A horrified silence in the room had been filled and exacerbated by Elvis crooning '…_cry over you._"

"You don't need him," Our haggard negotiator said, trying to match the host's neutral affectation "we've got someone much better back at the Ways."

Mr. Dahl did not seem to be listening. "He won't have to be lonely… it's so lonely here…" He picked a utensil from a tray next to the chair, as he turned his head 180 degrees to glanced back at us. The tool looked like it was designed to grab onto and pull a tongue out.

I murmured softly to my teammates and hoped Doll was to crazy to care what I said. "Do not let him use that thing." I started edging my way around the interior of the shack.

Gavin said "Right." By way of confirmation.

Mr. Tallwind just snorted a sound that conveyed that he was way ahead of my advice, as he moved forward to Dahl.

Our horrible host asked, "You want to help me?" his mechanical voice almost sounded hopeful.

Sean touched Doll and cast a glamour, the joints on the mobile manikin's left side seized up. Gravelly Gavin and wiry Wade tried to maneuver in the close quarters cramped with too many people. Petite and nimble Miss Bramblerose succeed in getting between the dental chair and "Dr." Dahl. Dark Sol smiled as she watched from the entry, poised to move at less than a moment's notice.

I made it to the back of the chair and started unbuckling straps. I also started talking to Joey as calmly and quietly as possible. "Hi Joey, we are here to get you away from this guy. Joey, try to relax, we won't let him hurt you anymore." I kept that up for a while, it may have been more reassuring or me than the boy, though.

Ken Dahl slapped Sean a couple of times with his functional wooden right hand. The long fingered gnarling countered with more of the same glamour again, this time sending some of the disturbed manikin's bolts flying into the corners of the room, as parts of his mechanisms broke down. At the same time, the deceptively delicate emerald-eyed bloomwell planted one foot steady and kicked out one of Dahl's knees with a loud accompanying _crunch_.

By then, Mr. Granitbane had been able to get next to Sean and punched Dahl in the face so hard that the pink plastic split in two down the middle. Ken Dahl collapsed to the floor, part of his head rolling under the work table to his side. In the unfortunate changeling's head cavity were a couple of mice that had been running on wheels. The mice immediately scurried out and started collecting the loose pieces of Dahl and carrying the bits back to the main body.

Our ROTC lady pulled a knife from one of her wrist sheaths and our fencer drew his sword. The bladed duo then finished cutting what straps still retrained the terrified blond boy.

I realized that behind the dentist's chair that Joey had been bound in, was a child sized wingback chair. At first I had thought the small sear had held a large ragdoll, upon closer inspection I saw—to my increased horror—that It was a partially completed child Frankenstein's monster. As far as I could tell the body had been made of half a dozen kids, although I did not look very long or at all closely.

I reflected on what Ken Dahl had said about being lonely. The cobbled-together manikin had been trying to make a companion, one that would be more like him. The poor creature probably even thought using real flesh parts had been a way to give his new friend a better life. I wondered, if we had offered to take Dahl to the Salamander Court's Barrow Mound, would the promise of so many potential friends have been all we needed to do to get Dahl to stop. I had been considering that I might get Tegan or Rai to bring me back later, after Dahl's mice had time to fix him up. Then we could offer to take desperate and distorted Ken Dahl to the Court…

That was when Mr. once-upon-a-time-rescue-worker Gavin Granitbane dropped the old refrigerator on the mice and what had been left of Dahl's upper body. The _crunch/squeak_ had easily been as sickening as the sight of the partially constructed Franken-child. The force of the blow caused the jukebox needle to jump and Elvis stopped his mournful tune, replaced with a repetitive _thp-shk-thp-shk_…

There was nothing to say, it had been too late, Ken Dahl had been slaughtered and none of my companions seemed to have any trouble with Gavin's coupe de grace. All I could do had been to try and not freak out; if I did, those "allies" might just leave me there.

Joey had been ushered outside. The boy, thin yet not undernourished, continued to weep for a long time, however, very, very quietly.

Through the thin clouds the sky had grown a little paler. Tegan and Raion-ju did their Briar travel glamours and conferred for a minute. The auburn over emerald beauty said, "I think it will take over an hour to walk directly back to the ritual site, which will probably cut our timing very close." She pointed a thumb to the large black prowler. "Rai, says he believes that the portal we came through, the red door, has reset to a spot about a half hour away." She took a deep, flannel stretching and unintentionally distracting, breath and sighed. "As long as the door still leads back to the ritual site, then that will give us enough time. If it leads somewhere else, then we are definitely screwed."

We all agreed, in very short order, to try for the portal-door.

Young Joey had curled into a ball at our feet, Gavin lifted him gently and effortlessly, and carried the kid like a football. Without needing to track anyone, our party moved through the tangled and thorny forest at a much faster pace than we had on the relatively clear Ways. We did hear the baying once or twice more, yet not close enough to alter our travel.

I spent the journey trying to cope with what my haven-mates had become and what that meant for me. Killing the redcaps—I found it practically impossible to grasp that the fight at O'Malley's had been one day ago—had not been cool, although at least I believed they had been vicious and relentless monsters. I would have preferred to drive the 'caps off, yet accepted that had they lived, then they were likely to return in grater force… But Dahl… well, maybe he was not all that different. Ken Dahl did have a mostly formed homunculus and that had been made of more than one human child. Which probably explained at least some of the recently missing children of Athens. Which also implied that lonesome Dahl had probably been getting parts from the Folk that had made him and the hard and other mismatched creatures in that area of the Briar. So, Ken Dahl may have been another puppet…

Still, I could not shake the feeling that the lonely Frankin-manikin could have been rehabilitated in a way that I do not believe the redcaps ever could have been. Of course, none of the rest of my party seemed to have seen Ken Dahl as I had.

No matter what, both foes must have been as human as all of us once were… Between Dahl's murder and the massacre of the redcaps and how casually my associates committed those acts, I seriously wondered how different my gang was from those that they killed. I also started to worry about when one of my comrades would decide that I had done something that they felt warranted my unarmed death. So, what was I going to do about their blood lust, the next time? Especially, if it were to be directed at me...


End file.
